


Beyond the Sea

by Sxymami0909, xtremeroswellian



Series: Ghosts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Post Nogitsune, Post Traumatic Stress, Stilinski Family Feels, This hurts, alternative 3B ending, but she's not really part of the story, mentions of Malia Tate, no really everything hurts, post 3b, set after insatiable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sxymami0909/pseuds/Sxymami0909, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the battle is finally over, the only thing our heroes left can feel is her loss -- leading one of them to make a decision that changes the pack forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When the battle was over, most of them ended back up at the McCall household. Most of them. And none of them were in good shape, really. They were all sporting various injuries and wounds from the final battle with the Oni and the Nogitsune.

But one of them wasn’t there to be patched up. Wasn’t there to decompress.

One of them was dead. And she was never coming back.

And that would weigh on Scott for the rest of his life, however long or short that might be.

Lydia had one arm behind Stiles, his arm resting over her shoulders as she helped him into the house. She hadn’t said a word since the battle. She could hear the sheriff talking in the background; probably to Scott’s Mom she wasn’t really sure. Her gaze landed on Scott. She watched him standing in the middle of the foyer staring at nothing.

Lydia’s chest tightened, but she couldn’t give into the emotions building inside of her...not yet. Not when there were still people to take care of. Because if she let go now, Lydia wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop. She swallowed heavily and started to move Stiles forward the sound of the sheriff’s voice breaking through her fog.

“Let me help,” he said stepping forward doing his best not to put pressure on his bad shoulder as he reached for his son.

Stiles winced at the sight of his dad’s bloody shoulder and instead of letting him wrap his arm around his waist, Stiles wrapped his arm around his dad’s waist and guided him over to the couch, feeling dizzy and nauseated. “Sit,” he mumbled. His vision blurred momentarily as he looked from Lydia to Scott, who both looked more lost than he’d ever seen either of them and the despair he felt in his chest was so thick it felt like it was actually tangible.

There had to be a way to right this somehow. Some druid spell or some mythological answer that would provide some kind of loophole for what had happened tonight because this wasn’t okay. Nothing about it was okay.

The sheriff frowned, but he sat like Stiles told him to. “I’m fine, we need to get you in bed,” he pointed out, worry creasing his brow. There was a lot going on and he could practically feel the pain coming off the kids in waves. They weren’t the only ones hurting. Michael couldn’t believe she was gone. He blinked and looked up at his son again. His very pale, weak looking son. Stiles had to get better because they wouldn’t be able to handle another loss like Allison.

Allison was dead. That was all that Stiles could think about. Allison was dead. He stared unseeingly at his dad for a long time, teeth chattering involuntarily. Stiles was freezing. Stiles had been freezing. But he wasn’t freezing the same way that she was now. Still and silent, body cold. Like his mother’s. Like Heather’s. Boyd. Erica. Tara. Deputy Sharp. So many others. Names he didn’t even know. Just the latest name in a litany of others. Empty and meaningless.

Kira pushed her way into the room, looking wide-eyed and almost as shell-shocked as everyone else. She reached out and laid a hand on Scott’s arm, silent but steady beside him.

Scott barely acknowledged her presence at first. It took him a minute to even realize she was there. He glanced at her and then let his eyes drift around the room. “Everyone should get some rest,” his voice was hoarse when he spoke, but it broke through the silence of the room.

The sheriff stood even though he’d only just sat down. “Scott’s right, come on Stiles. Let me help you upstairs.” He said not willing to take no for an answer this time. They didn’t need to lose anyone else.

Stiles let his dad lead him toward the stairs wordlessly, but he paused at the bottom step, turning to look across the room at Lydia and Scott, his eyes glassy.

Lydia caught Stiles’ gaze and his expression made her stomach clench. He didn’t look good and she briefly wondered what would happen if they were wrong and he didn’t get better. She closed her eyes tightly needing to erase all thoughts of death from her head momentarily, at least long enough to form a coherent plan. Lydia needed a plan...a course of action. Something to do or she was pretty sure she was going to go out of her mind.

Lydia hadn’t really had a chance to process things yet, none of them had. But one thing she knew was that no matter what she did or how hard she tried nothing was going to fix this, nothing would bring Allison back.

“Come sit down,” Kira whispered, gently tugging Scott toward the sofa. He was hurt, too, even if he healed faster than everyone else because of his werewolf abilities.

Scott glanced at Kira and as she tugged him to the couch, he went willingly sitting down slowly. His whole body felt heavy. He rested his arms on his legs and dropped his head into his hands. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. Scott needed it to not be real.

Tired, Stiles allowed his dad to wrap an arm around his waist, helping him up the stairs. His body felt like it was made of lead. Or concrete. His limbs hurt, his head hurt. He felt nauseous and dizzy and an array of other physical sensations that were all currently vying for his attention but he ignored them all because he didn’t have it in him right then to care if he was going to get better or not.

He’d killed the Nogitsune, stabbed it through its gut with a sword while Scott rammed his claws through its back, and Stiles had watched as his own face contorted with pain in front of him, and felt nothing. It barely skimmed the surface of his awareness. Instead of letting his dad guide him into Scott’s room -- the room as familiar to him as his own -- he steered his dad toward the guest room. It was where he belonged now. He didn’t belong in Scott’s room, with Scott’s things, like he had a right to be there.

He was a stranger now.

The sheriff frowned, but said nothing for the moment. Once he had Stiles situated on the bed he stepped back and let out a tired sigh. “I’ll see if I can grab you some fresh clothes.” He said quietly as he started to head out of the guest room, pausing momentarily to place a hand on his son’s shoulder. Michael squeezed gently and then walked out of the room and into the hallway. He spotted Melissa making her way up the stairs as he stood at the top waiting for her. “How are you holding up?” He asked when she stepped off the last stair.

She hesitated, then shut her eyes. “I’ve had better days,” she admitted, knowing he knew exactly what she meant. She opened her eyes once more, moving closer to him. “I need to look at that shoulder. You may need stitches, Sheriff.” Her voice was full of concern.

Michael nodded, “Just let me grab Stiles some clean clothes and more blankets,” He said quietly trying to force the image of him and Allison talking in the elevator out of his head. She had been scared, she admitted it, all of the time. But she still dove into danger for her friends and it had cost her, her life.

“I’ll do it.”

The sheriff and Melissa glanced over at the new voice. Lydia. The sheriff swallowed hard. She was pale. There were dark circles around her eyes, blood covering certain parts of her clothes and she looked as lost as Scott. “You don’t have to,” he said soothingly reaching out to touch her arm.

Lydia flinched back from the touch swallowing hard. “It’s fine,” her throat was dry like sandpaper and it hurt to talk, though she wasn’t surprised with all the screaming she’d done over the past day and a half. “Stiles would want you to get that looked at. I’m fine. I can grab clothes and blankets.” She needed something to do.

If there wasn’t anyone to help or any mundane tasks to perform then Lydia was left alone with her own thoughts. And that...she couldn’t...there was so much pain inside her head. The voices still echoed faintly in her head and the loss of Allison ate at her insides like a parasite.

Melissa looked at her with worried eyes when she flinched away from Sheriff Stilinski. She quickly scanned Lydia’s face and arms, trying to determine if she was injured and also needed medical attention. There were scrapes and bruises, and there was blood on Lydia’s dress, but she was fairly certain it didn’t belong to Lydia.

“Okay, Sweetheart. The hall closet is full of blankets, and Scott’s room is --” She pointed toward the room where the door was cracked open. “All of his clothes are in his closet or his dresser. I’ll be right across the hall, taking care of Sheriff Stilinski. Then I’ll come in to check on you and Stiles, okay?” Her eyes were full of sadness, her face drawn and tired. There was an acute ache in her heart at the thought of Chris Argent and how he must feel right now. It didn’t escape her that it very well could have been her or Michael Stilinski in Chris’s shoes and the thought weighed on her heavily.

Lydia glanced from Scott’s Mom to the door and back. She nodded and turned heading in the direction of Scott’s room. She pushed the door open, stepped inside and just stood there for a minute. Lydia’s legs felt shaky and when she moved they were unsteady, but she pushed through. She walked to Scott’s closet, pulled it open, and stared at all the clothes there.

And then she was reaching out grabbing things. Moving through the motions. Familiar mindless tasks. Before Lydia even realized it she was standing in front of the closet with the blankets. Her hand shook as she reached out and opened it and she found herself once again swallowing hard.

She needed to keep it together. Lydia could hear the hushed voices of Ms. McCall and the sheriff from the other room, but the words were lost on her. She grabbed two blankets and walked to the guestroom. Lydia spotted Stiles on the bed. “I’ve got clean clothes.” She stated pausing in front of him and resting everything on the bed beside him.

Stiles was laying on the bed on his side faced away from the door and he heard her voice, shutting his eyes tightly. He was far too tired and apathetic to worry about changing clothes. He didn’t even have the energy to crawl under the blankets of the bed even though he was shivering -- not a lot because he didn’t have enough energy for that either -- and all he could think was Allison is dead.

He hadn’t gotten to tell her thank you for helping to save his life even if the best thing for everyone would have been his death and not hers. She wasn’t the one who’d killed people. She wasn’t the one who deserved to be punished.

She was the hero, not the villain.

Stiles let his eyes drift shut again, willing his body to just stop working. He didn’t want to heal physically when he knew he wasn’t going to heal mentally.

He didn’t move and Lydia felt a hint of panic fill her chest, she stepped forward and then stopped when she saw his body shudder slightly. She pursed her lips. “Stiles, you need to get out of those clothes. They’re ripped and wet and we need to warm you up.” She told him as she started moving forward again hesitating at the edge of the bed.

Lydia frowned and reached out to him slowly, “Please sit up,” she said quietly.

His face screwed up in a pained expression and he lifted his hand to his face, covering it. “You should...Scott...Isaac.” God. Chris. The tears burned his eyes and he’d throw up again if there was anything in his stomach left to purge, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even eaten. The Nogitsune hadn’t really been concerned about food, or sleep or Adderall.

Lydia closed her eyes for a minute. She wasn’t going to let him do this. She understood what Stiles was going through. She’d seen the Nogitsune and his evil tendencies up close in person for more time then she would have liked. Something else she wasn’t going to be thinking about right now.

But they just lost Allison, and everyone was feeling that. None of them would be able to deal with losing him too. Lydia felt her earlier anger building up in her chest. Not at Stiles or anyone really, but at the situation in general. “Get up now Stiles,” she said her tone shrill.

“I’m not going to stand here and watch you freeze to death, either you help me or I’ll undress you myself.” Lydia hadn’t meant for her tone to be so sharp, but she was pretty sure if she lost Allison and Stiles within the span of a day that she’d gladly let the voices in her head consume her and get lost in them.

Stiles was pretty sure that the entire house had heard her order because everything in the place was even more still and silent than it had been and considering how still and silent it already was…

He pushed himself up on shaky arms, not facing her, just reaching back for the clothes she’d brought him. Scott’s. He blanched involuntarily, nausea making his head spin. He shrugged out of the jacket he was wearing, teeth beginning to chatter again and there was blood on his shirt. He didn’t know whose blood it was, if it was his or if it was someone else’s. It was probably someone else’s. He tugged at the shirt he wore, letting it fall to the ground and pulling Scott’s red hoodie over his head silently.

Lydia stepped forward and grabbed the blankets. “We need to slowly get your temperature back to normal. You should lay down,” she told him now that he had on a clean shirt. Lydia shook out the blanket. “You should start feeling warmer in a few hours. It seems like--” she paused, “It takes time.” Lydia said simply cutting off her own rambling words. She stepped to the edge of the bed and waited for him to lay down.

It didn’t seem like the amount of time to Stiles. But he didn’t trust his own sense of anything at the moment, so he just lay down silently, letting his eyes drift shut. He was an asshole. He knew that much. She’d just lost her best friend. Scott had lost the love of his life. And he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, to offer either of them the tiniest bit of comfort. As if it were possible. But he’d killed the Nogitsune. The thing that wore his face as he ordered his puppets to kill Allison.

Lydia had no clue what Stiles was thinking. She couldn’t read the expression on his face and she hated how desolate he looked. But she didn’t know what to do to help him. So she leaned forward and covered him with the first blanket wrapping it around his body and tucking it against his sides. Once she was done with that she reached for the second blanket and did the same with that one. “It should help keep you warm,” she explained tucking the last of the blanket beneath his arm.

“Thanks,” he murmured, not opening his eyes. It should have felt surreal -- that Lydia Martin was explaining why she was covering his cold body with blankets, as if he wasn’t sure what the purpose was. It didn’t feel surreal and maybe that was a sign of how bad off all of them really were. He knew he needed to ask, but he was terrified of the answer. Terrified of the inevitable blame he would hear. But he had to ask anyway. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Lydia answered immediately though she was pretty sure she’d never be fine again. Physically she was okay. Tired, achy, and nauseous, but okay. Everything else was a different story.

Tears burned Stiles' eyes as his body shivered under the blankets and he swallowed hard. It had been a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t fine. Of course she was hurt. He wasn’t sure that there would ever be enough time to heal from the pain.

Lydia frowned when she saw his body shake again. She stepped toward the bed again hesitating for less than a minute before sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing her hands up and down his arms. “I’m sure you’ll warm up soon.” She told him. The Nogitsune was dead, which meant Stiles should be getting better. Lydia knew it took time though, after all when the Nogitsune had taken her he was weak and by the end of the night...the weaker Stiles had gotten the stronger he got.

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, the feel of his cold hands on her, his voice. She felt a shudder go through her body, but she ignored it. “It just takes time,” she mumbled, her hands still moving over his arms above the blanket.

Stiles tried to focus on the sound of her voice, on the fact that her hands were rubbing his arm through the blanket in an attempt to warm him. The more he tried, the more he pictured Allison, lying dead in Scott’s arms, blood everywhere. He felt the darkness beckoning him closer and even though the Nogitsune was dead, he could almost hear it whisper in his ear. Let me in.

Stiles passed out seconds later.

Lydia’s hands stopped moving when she realized his breathing was steady. She pursed her lips watching him for a minute before standing. He was out cold. She wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep or passed out, but sleep had definitely taken hold of him. His breathing seemed steady though. She would get Ms. McCall to come in and look at him anyway though, just to be safe.

Lydia turned and walked out of the guest bedroom into the upstairs hallway. She moved to where she heard voices earlier and knocked on the door, her chest tightening.

A second later, Melissa opened the door. “Come in,” she whispered, reaching out and laying a hand on Lydia’s arm, pulling her inside.

Lydia shifted back from Ms. McCall, sliding her arm gently from the other woman’s grasp. “I was just wondering if you could take a look at Stiles...make sure he’s okay. If you’re done here,” she said glancing toward the sheriff.

Her eyes were sad as she gazed at the pretty red-head. “Of course I will. Would you mind sitting with Michael for a few minutes while I check on Stiles? I just want to make sure he hasn’t lost too much blood.”

Lydia nodded. “I can do that.” She said as she watched Ms. McCall walk out of the room. She stood shifting on her feet as she glanced at the sheriff. “Do you need anything for the pain?” She asked, her voice a lot more calm than she felt. “I’m sure there’s some here,” she glanced around. Her legs felt odd like she’d been running on a treadmill for an extended period of time. Her stomach cramped and she ignored it while resting a hand on the dresser keeping her gaze on the sheriff, watching him like Ms. McCall asked.

“No, I’m okay, Lydia,” Michael said softly, even though he looked and felt like he’d aged several years in the last few weeks. He looked at her tiredly. “Why don’t you come sit down?” he suggested. He didn’t know much about Lydia’s parents, but he was under the impression that they not only didn’t know about all of the things that went on in Beacon Hills (and, he had to admit, he understood why people wanted to stay ignorant to said things), but that her parents weren’t around much period. Someone had to watch out for these children. He was the sheriff, but not only that, Lydia was the one girl that Stiles had loved his entire life. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe. Not only for her sake, but for his son’s.

Lydia wasn’t sure why the simple question made her heartbeat rocket in her chest or why she was suddenly feeling so sick. She didn’t want to sit down. She wanted to go back. She wanted them to listen to her warnings, to not come for her. They should have just left her there...She’d told them she didn’t want to be found. Lydia let out a shaky breath. “If you’re okay sheriff I should probably check on Scott. Make sure he’s healing.”

Michael's eyes were sad as he gazed at her, rising to his feet slowly. Aside from the dull ache in his chest and the pain in his shoulder where Melissa had stitched his wound, he felt okay enough to walk. “Let’s check on him together,” he said quietly.

Lydia pressed her lips together. “Are you sure you should be moving around?” She asked with a frown, “Stiles would be worried,” she told him matter-of-factly studying the wound on his shoulder for a minute before glancing back at him.

“I’m all right,” he assured her, well aware of how much his son worried about his health and safety.

Lydia watched the sheriff for a minute before nodding. “Okay, I think he’s still downstairs with Kira.”

Michael followed her out of the room and down the stairs, casting a glance toward the McCall’s guest room momentarily, his chest tightening.

Lydia gripped the railing tightly as she stepped off the last stair on shaky legs. She pushed herself forward and walked to the living room. Scott was in the same position he was in when she’d gone upstairs, Kira by his side.

She stopped a few feet in front of them and caught Kira’s gaze, Scott was still looking down. “I just wanted to make sure you’re wound was healing.” She said her gaze shifting to Scott. He’d gotten hurt during the battle with the Oni, Kira too.

Michael came up behind Lydia taking in Scott and his chest tightened as he reached out and rested a hand on the teenager’s shoulder.

Wordlessly Scott reached down and lifted up his shirt, revealing the smooth skin that had already healed over, even if there was still blood staining his shirt, his limbs, his chest. He didn’t look up, didn’t say anything.

Kira, however, looked up at them. “We need to get him into bed,” she whispered. “He’s exhausted.” They were all exhausted.

Lydia nodded, “I can bring him up,” she paused glancing at Kira, “Unless you want to.” she said not wanting to step on the other girls toes. She wasn’t sure if Kira was planning on staying with Scott or not, but if she was then he probably didn’t need her interfering.

“I should -- I should probably go home,” Kira admitted, looking a little uncertain. Her parents would be worried -- and even if she was angry with her mother because maybe if she’d just cooperated, things here could have turned out differently for everyone -- she didn’t want her dad to worry. She looked at Scott for a long moment. “Will you be okay? Do you want me to…”

“I’m fine,” Scott said almost inaudibly. “I’ll be fine.”

Kira hesitated knowing he couldn’t possibly be fine, but also realizing it might be a good idea to give Scott a little time. She nodded, “Okay, if you need anything just call.” She told him softly.

Lydia watched her get up and say goodbye to the sheriff and Scott. She nodded at Kira when the girl say goodbye to her, but she kept her eyes on Scott. When she heard the front door close Lydia reached out and rested her hand carefully on Scott’s arm. For some reason at the moment touching people just seemed to heighten the emotions and voices inside of her.

But when she felt Scott’s skin warm beneath her hand that was all she felt. Nothing got worse than it currently was and that was a relief. “You should rest, come on.” Lydia gave him a gentle tug. Allison would never forgive her if she didn’t take care of Scott. The thought alone nearly made a sob fall from her throat, but she sucked it back refusing to release it.

Finally Scott looked up at her, swallowing hard and rising to his feet silently. He paused, looking at Sheriff Stilinski. “Are you okay?” he asked, the first words he’d uttered in a while.

Michael’s expression softened at Scott’s question. “I’m fine son, your Mom already patched me up, good as new,” he responded, “How are you holding up?” he asked knowing it was most likely a waste of a question. None of them were alright, Michael knew that.

Scott just nodded, looking dazed and tired. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, voice distant. “Stiles? Is Stiles okay?” He looked toward the stairs and then started moving toward them, needing to check on his best friend and see for himself that he was still alive. That he was still there.

Lydia watched him go; understanding the need to make sure Stiles was okay. She’d felt the same way. She stepped forward glancing at the sheriff, “You should probably get some rest too,” she told him as she followed behind Scott.

Michael wished Lydia would take her own advice. He walked towards the stairs behind her figuring at least if everyone was up there he and Melissa would have a better chance of getting them to rest.

Scott reached the top of the stairs first heading for his room and frowning when he didn’t see Stiles. “Where is he?” He asked turning into time to see Lydia at the top of the steps.

“Guest room.” She said quietly.

Scott turned and walked over to the guest room pushing the door open. He tilted his head at the sight of his best friend sleeping and some of the pressure eased in his chest, but not much. Scott glanced at his Mom, “How is he?”

Melissa looked up at her son, at how tired and frail he looked. She was so worried about all of them, about how they were going to get through this. Allison had been his first love, and even though they’d been broken up for months, she knew her son well enough to know that he was crushed. She looked down at the frail boy who lay in their guest bed, troubled eyes watching the way he shook beneath the blankets even in his unconscious state. He was freezing. His temperature was much lower than it should have been.

“I’m going to get him started on a saline IV,” she admitted, concerned about the things she couldn’t see, like dehydration. She smoothed some hair back from his face and he didn’t move. She rose to her feet, moving over and reaching out to cup her son’s cheek in her hand.

“He’s going to be fine...right? We saved him. He killed the Nogitsune. He’s going to be fine.” Scott repeated needing his Mother to confirm the words, needing her to tell him that he wasn’t going to lose his best friend too.

Her expression was pained, but she nodded. “He’ll be okay, Scott. He’s just in shock right now.”

Scott nodded his gaze going back to Stiles’ still form. It looked unnatural for him to be so still. Stiles was never that still. He was always moving, doing something. But not right now. He looked away from his friend and down at the ground. “How long, how long until he’s awake?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly, honestly, looking back at Stiles and squeezing his arm gently. “It might be awhile.”

“Okay,” He said with a nod. “I’ll wait.” He shifted and sat on the edge of the bed near Stiles’ legs. Scott rested his arms on his own legs and leaned forward.

Lydia slipped by the sheriff and moved into the bedroom. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed near Stiles’ head, her hands automatically going to the hem of her dress picking at the material.

Melissa hesitated a moment. “Why don’t you two lie down with him?” she suggested quietly. “It might help him warm up faster.” Mostly she just knew they needed to lie down and she had a suspicion if they believed doing so would help Stiles in some way, they would do it. She met Michael’s eyes as he stood at the door, gaze lingering on his son until he looked at her.

“I’m going to get some more supplies and I’ll be back.” Melissa squeezed his arm gently.

Scott nodded. If he could help Stiles warm up he would. He glanced at Lydia meeting her gaze and she sent him a slight nod. He stood and then climbed onto the bed carefully on Stiles’ right shifting to try and get comfortable.

Lydia hesitated before doing the same thing except on the opposite side so that she and Scott were facing each other with Stiles between them. She slid her hand slowly over Stiles’ bundled body resting it above where she imagined his heart would be if he didn’t have blankets piled on top of him. He had to be okay. Lydia couldn’t lose anyone else. None of them could.


	2. Chapter 2

A soft sob fell from her throat as she sat in the McCall’s upstairs bathroom, her back pressed against the cool tiles of the wall. Lydia was huddled in the corner beside the tub, her legs pulled up to her chest. It wasn’t exactly an appropriate position for the dress she wore, but really who cared,she was alone. She placed a hand over her mouth, tears streaming heavily down her cheeks.

Lydia hadn’t been able to sleep. She got up not long ago to use the bathroom and when she’d seen her reflection she almost hadn’t recognized herself. She had taken off her blazer and tossed it on the counter only for something to roll right out of the pocket.

It had been something so small, but it had set her off. Allison’s lip gloss. One that she’d let her borrow the other day before...another sob tumbled from her throat. She was never going to get a chance to give that lip gloss back. No more late night driving and talking when they needed a break. No more study and gossip sessions.

Allison was dead. Lydia's body shook with the force of her tears, her arms gripping her legs tightly her forehead resting against her knees. Her fingernails dug into her skin, the pain reminding her she was still alive. Lydia was cold and her stomach hurt, but she didn’t know why. Her forehead felt clammy and she knew she was pale. But what did it matter? Who cared what she felt like when Allison was gone?

What was she supposed to do without her best friend? What would happen to Mr. Argent and Scott? Would Stiles blame himself? Lydia told them not to come...she thought she’d sent the message and for once it had actually gotten through. She should have been clearer. She should have said more. What good were her banshee abilities if they couldn’t save anyone? What good was she?

It should have been her that died, the pack needed Allison, but Lydia was expendable. She didn’t fight, she didn’t help with pack stuff...all she did was find the dead bodies, something they could all live without. Lydia stayed in that position, body shuddering with the force of her tears a heavy weight bore down on her chest. She wasn’t sure she was going to survive this.

______

 

Scott woke up slowly, still feeling drained and when he lifted his head and realized he wasn’t in his own bed, he was momentarily confused. He opened his eyes to see Stiles lying unconscious beside him, body huddled under the blankets, still shivering in his sleep and he reached out, remembering how simply touching his friend twenty-four hours ago had caused him to absorb pain that he hadn’t even known Stiles was feeling. He laid his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, wincing as the mere contact caused the black lines to crawl up his arm. He swallowed heavily, not pulling away for a long moment, until his own body was wracked with pain that wasn’t entirely physical.

Scott laid his head back down on the pillow for a moment, closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Allison was gone. He was never going to see her smile again, never going to hear her laugh. He was never going to get to hold her hand again or talk to her at two in the morning when things were crazy and neither of them could sleep and she wanted to run plans by him. He’d gone into the day terrified that his best friend was going to die, that he wouldn’t be able to do enough to save him, to bring him back from the clutches of the Nogitsune (and some part of him still wasn’t really sure). Instead, he’d lost the love of his life, who’d died protecting Isaac from the Oni.

Scott rubbed his hands over his face, drawing in a shuddering breath as hot tears stung his eyes. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to pull them all together and get them through this when he didn’t know how to get through it himself? He heard soft noises from the other room and it dawned on him that Lydia wasn’t there in the bed anymore. She was somewhere close, though, because he could hear her crying. Looking at Stiles once more with worried eyes -- because his friend still hadn’t moved at all as far as he could tell, Scott rolled off the bed and headed toward the bathroom, knocking softly and hesitating only a second before stepping inside.

Scott's chest ached at the sight of Lydia sitting curled up on the floor. Wordlessly he moved to kneel beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him, burying his face against her shoulder.

Lydia’s response was automatic. She wrapped her arms around Scott, clutching him tightly, her sobs growing louder and more uncontrolled as his grief mixed with hers. She could feel it all growing inside of her. Everything she’d been holding in since she’d screamed for her best friend’s death in the tunnels, finally pouring out of her in almost tangible waves of despair.

Scott held onto her tightly, sobs wracking his own body as they cried together, and yet still somehow alone, for all that they’d lost. For all that they kept losing. It was a never-ending carousel of loss in all of their lives, be it because people left voluntarily (like his dad and Lydia’s dad), or involuntarily (like Stiles’ mother), or because they were taken violently from the world (Erica, Boyd, Allison). And it was worse because he was supposed to know what to do. He was supposed to keep them all safe, somehow. Safe from everything and everyone and he kept letting them down time and time again.

“It’s not your fault,” Lydia mumbled between tears, “You’re doing the best you can.” She wasn’t sure what made her say the words, but she felt like they needed to be said. Scott had so much on his shoulders and she couldn’t imagine what that was like. Having so many people depending on him. Lydia’s heart clenched as an image of Allison popped into her head. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like everything was closing in on her and she wondered if that’s what it felt like for Scott too.

He loved Allison just as much as she did and she was ripped away from both of them and Lydia was angry. She was angry at Allison for ignoring her warning. She was angry that the Nogitsune took Allison from them. She was angry that she couldn’t prevent it or help it or change the outcome in any way. She should have tried harder. She should have done something. She was Lydia fucking Martin...she should have made sure her best friend stayed safe because that’s what best friends did.

Scott’s arms tightened around her just a little at the sound of her words. “Yours either,” he whispered. “It isn’t your fault, Lydia.” They’d ignored the warnings she’d left and he knew she’d left them. Knew because Allison had texted him about the message on the car window. But instead of trusting her, instead of listening to her, they’d forged ahead, determined to save her from the Nogitsune that wore his best friend’s face like a mockery. “It’s that thing’s fault. Not yours. Not Stiles’.”

Lydia’s hands clenched against his shirt, “Scott, what are we going to do without her?” She whispered another bout of tears spilling from her eyes. Lydia couldn’t picture a life without Allison in it. Without their Sunday morning trips to the local cafe, without shopping for prom dresses and staying up late talking on the rare nights that they had a sleepover that wasn’t pack related. Without laughing at lunch and fighting aside one another. “I feel like there’s something missing inside of me. I feel like I can’t breathe,” She murmured her chest tight. “There’s so much...so much,” she whispered.

Scott shut his eyes for a long moment, hurting for her. For all of them. Like he’d lost a limb. He swallowed hard, pulling away to look at her, looking every bit as exhausted and forlorn as she felt. “We live,” he whispered back.

Lydia closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “What if we don’t know how?” She asked opening her eyes and searching Scott’s face knowing he was hurting as much, if not more than she was.

“Then we do the best we can. Together,” Scott answered, reaching down and taking her hand. “Because we’re going to need each other.”

Lydia threaded her fingers through his and she nodded, a few tears still rolling down her cheeks. “You, me, and Stiles.” She said softly. “He’s going to get better...he has to. We can’t lose him too Scott. We can’t,” she whispered squeezing his hand. It had become very clear to Lydia in the past week just how important Stiles was to her and she knew how important he was to Scott.

Scott’s chest tightened painfully, nodding. He reached up and brushed some of the tears off her cheeks. “We won’t.” He’d already felt like Stiles had been gone for so long. He’d been there periodically as himself, but he still wasn’t Stiles. Not really. And Scott couldn’t help but wonder, if after everything, Stiles would ever really be himself again. Would ever be back to normal. He’d been stripped of the last bits of innocence he had, forced to do and say things that Stiles wouldn’t in a million years ever do. And he remembered all of it. His best friend’s words from yesterday echoed in his head like a freight train. If I die too? I don’t care as long as no one else dies because of me.

The frightening part was how serious Stiles had been. He really hadn’t cared if he lived or died at the end of the day, and the way he’d thrown himself at the Nogitsune with that sword, not knowing if killing the demon would kill him too…

Scott felt sick to his stomach. They weren’t okay. None of them. Not him, not Lydia, not Isaac, not Chris, not Sheriff Stilinski or his mom. And not Stiles. He wasn’t sure if any of them would ever be completely okay again. Everything was different now. In the blink of an eye, everything in their lives had changed so completely that it had obliterated what little bit of normalcy that any of them had.

And Scott wasn’t sure if they’d ever really get that back.

Lydia nodded, the last of her tears drying up for the moment. She was exhausted, physically, emotionally...everything. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept or ate or changed her clothes. It must have been before the Nogitsune took her. Lydia swallowed heavily the ache in her bones finally making itself known. “I’m sorry,” she said after a couple of minutes. “I’m okay now,” she said trying to reassure Scott.

Next time she’d be stronger, she wouldn’t break down. Lydia shifted, “We should check on Stiles,” she told him as she unfolded her legs and attempted to get up, her body unsteady.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Scott said softly, rising to his feet and helping her up, sliding an arm around her waist. The last forty-eight hours had been horrible. Painful.

And the next several days were going to be equally as bad, if not worse. Because they were going to have to bury someone they loved.

Lydia leaned into Scott as they walked back to the guest bedroom. “Thanks,” she said softly as they moved into the room making sure to be quiet. “Has he woken up at all?” She asked him.

He helped her over to the bed, swallowing hard at her question. “No,” he admitted quietly. And he didn’t want to say it and scare her, but Stiles’ heartbeat sounded weaker than normal, and the amount of pain he’d pulled from his best friend before going to find Lydia was alarming.

Lydia paused at the edge of the bed and tilted her head studying Stiles. She frowned, “He should be getting better...the Nogitsune was sick at first,” she said quietly, “But the sicker Stiles got the stronger he got.” Lydia remembered how strong he was right before he’d left her at Eichen House. Not exactly something she wanted to think about. “It should work the same way with Stiles...he’s dead so Stiles should in theory be getting better.” She explained.

Scott nodded slightly, reaching out and tugging the covers up around Stiles a little more. “It makes sense but...maybe it’s taking longer because Stiles is just a human,” he whispered. “Maybe it’ll take him longer to get his strength back.” He hesitated, letting his hand rest on the back of his best friend’s neck, wincing and gritting his teeth as he focused on absorbing more of the pain. It was overwhelming how much there was, and it wasn’t concentrated in any one area of Stiles’ body. It was just...everywhere.

Lydia watched Scott, the black veins sliding up his hand. She placed her hand over his arm squeezing gently. Lydia was scared, but she knew voicing that wouldn’t exactly help so she kept it to herself. When Scott pulled his hand back Lydia let out a short breath. “We should probably try to get some sleep while he’s out.”

Scott knew she was right, of course, especially now. They were all exhausted, and his body felt like a lead weight. Like he was just going to drop from lack of energy. Wordlessly he nodded, lying down beside Stiles and letting his eyes close. “Try to get some rest, Lydia,” he whispered, knowing how much there still was that lay ahead.

______

 

Isaac sat on the guest bedroom bed starting at the pressed suit that was hanging on the inside of his door. No doubt Ms. McCall had put it there for him. His hands curled over his knees, clenching them. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. Isaac knew he should be getting ready...the funeral was soon, but he couldn’t seem to move from his spot on the bed.

His wounds from the Oni were healed and physically you’d never know there had been a huge fight to the death two days ago. He glanced down his chest tightening. Isaac wasn’t sure he could do this. The thought of the last night he spent with Allison fresh in his mind. He loved her. There was no question about that.

Isaac was also angry and sad. He wasn't prepared for this and he wasn’t sure how to deal with what had happened. Isaac sighed and pushed himself off the bed. He needed to get ready even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. He reached for the suit, a memory of him helping Allison and her Dad popping into his head.

Allison had kissed him that day. It was a day he’d never forget. Isaac gripped the suit, pulled it down, and started getting ready doing his best to keep his mind from wandering places he didn’t have the ability to deal with. Ten minutes later the sound of Melissa's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Isaac? Sweetheart?” Melissa’s voice was quiet as she paused outside Isaac’s door, knocking on it lightly. She was already dressed in a simple black dress and a pair of black heels. It had been a very long last couple of days. They had all begun splitting back up yesterday afternoon. She knew Isaac had spent the previous day and a half with Chris Argent, and had reclaimed his room after Stiles and his dad had gone home.

It had been endless hours of worry and tears for everyone she cared about. For Scott and Isaac and Stiles. All of her boys were so lost. Lydia, too. She’d spent the rest of the previous day cooking various casseroles and side dishes. For the three of them, for Chris, and for the Stilinski’s. It was the only thing she could think to do for any of them right now aside from hover and give as many hugs as they would accept.

Isaac glanced at the door as he stood there in the suit pants and shirt feeling out of place and awkward. The jacket to his suit was on the bed and Isaac sat down beside it. He cleared his throat and called out, “It’s open.”

Melissa twisted the door handle and stepped inside, managing a faint, sad smile as she looked at the young man in front of her. She reached out and gently cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Do you need some help with your tie?” she asked gently. “Scott can never remember how to tie his.”

Isaac opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He could feel his heartbeat picking up speed as he stared at Ms. McCall. “I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered his breathing growing heavy as his eyes flashed gold. He stepped back from Scott’s Mom and glanced around the room not able to meet her gaze as moisture pooled in his eyes.

“Isaac.” Her voice was soft and she laid a hand on his back. “Come here.”

He shook his head, “No,” he said quietly. He lifted his hands and dropped his head in them. “This isn’t fair,” he whispered, “It should have been me you know...if she just would have let it be she’d still be here.” A single tear slipped down his cheek and he brushed it away quickly.

“Isaac.” Melissa felt her heart compress tightly, like someone had reached inside her chest and squeezed it. “It shouldn’t have been any of you. Not you, not Scott. Not Allison. This isn’t your fault, Sweetheart.” She gently stroked her fingers through his hair.

Isaac’s shoulders drooped as he leaned into Ms. McCall’s touch. He turned around to face her a minute later and he could see the worry in her expression and he hated being the cause it. “Okay,” he said simply because he didn’t want to upset her anymore.

Melissa knew that he didn’t believe her. Not yet. Not this soon. She knew that Allison had died protecting him. Had saved his life with the last arrow she ever fired. We protect those who cannot protect themselves. Melissa pressed a tender kiss to Isaac’s forehead, knowing that for now his dropping it was as good as it was going to get. She reached over onto the bed and picked up the tie that lay there, carefully moving it around his neck as she concentrated on tying it for him.

Isaac felt the familiar moisture gathering in his eyes and she tied his tie for him. He wasn’t used to having people take care of him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Melissa said quietly, reaching down a moment later and squeezing his arm gently. “You’re not alone, Isaac. I’m here for you. Don’t forget that.” She rose to her feet, heart heavy with grief. With hurt for her children. Her boys.

Isaac nodded. He cleared his throat again, it was dry. “When are we leaving?” He asked.

“In a few minutes. I just need to check on Scott and make sure he’s ready, too.”

Isaac nodded. “Okay, I’m going to,” he paused, “I’m just going to sit for a minute,” he said letting himself rest against the bed. “I’ll be okay.” He said when he saw the worry back on her face. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Okay,” Melissa whispered, slowly backing out of his room and pulling the door shut, resting a hand over her heart and laying her forehead against the door for a brief moment before moving away, down the hall to Scott’s room. The door was cracked open and she knocked softly before stepping inside, finding her son at his bedroom window, already dressed in his suit and staring out the window. “Scott?”

Scott didn’t turn around, “Yeah, Mom?” he asked keeping his voice calm despite the fact that he felt anything but. Scott had never really been to a funeral before. Well, he was at Kate Argent’s but that was for Allison and he hadn’t been there long.

Melissa watched him silently for a moment, then moved so she was standing beside him, reaching down and taking his hand in hers, saying nothing. He sounded calm enough to anyone who didn’t know him, but she was his mother. And her son wasn’t okay.

Scott was silent for a minute before speaking. “I want to be strong for everyone...I want to be able to help,” he paused, “But Mom...it’s Allison,” he said his face contorting in fresh pain. “I loved her...I’ll always love her.” He whispered.

Melissa squeezed his hand, shifting so that she was facing him. “I know, Sweetheart,” she whispered back, cupping his cheek in her hand the same way she had Isaac’s moments ago. “You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Especially not today. I’ll do that for you.”

Scott’s eyes burned with unshed tears, “I’ve got people to look after,” he said though his voice had lowered. “This is going to make it real.” He told her quietly.

Melissa let go of his hand, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I know it is. And I’m so sorry that I can’t carry it for you. I’m sorry that you have to go through this. That I can’t make it go away. But I’m gonna be there with you every step. I love you,” she whispered.

Scott wrapped his arms around his Mom holding onto her tightly. “I love you, too,” he whispered as he tried to push back the emotions building in his chest. “Have you talked to the Sheriff? Are they meeting us there?”

Melissa tightened her hold on him just a bit. “Sheriff Stilinski’s going to meet us there, honey, but...I’m not sure that Stiles is going to be able to make it today.” Her voice was pained. “He’s still pretty weak and tired and the sheriff’s pretty worried.”

Scott’s head shot up, “Why wouldn’t anyone tell me that?” He asked his voice sharp.

“Scott,” she said soothingly, resting her hands on his shoulders and gazing at him. “He’s just been through a lot the last few weeks. His body needs time to recover. And you needed some rest, too.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. Scott shook his head, “I should be with Stiles if he’s not getting better. I spent two days just,” he paused swallowing hard as he stepped away from the window, “moving around this house and he’s been alone and sick.” Scott turned to face him Mom. “We just lost Allison, I can’t lose Stiles too,” he took a deep breath, “Lydia can’t lose Stiles...none of us,” his words trailed off and he plopped down on his bed, his head dropping into his hands. “I hate this.” Scott mumbled.

Melissa watched him sadly for a long moment before moving to sit beside him on the edge of his mattress, resting a hand on his back. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that Stiles hadn’t wanted company. “He’s getting better. Just slowly. Michael said that he’s basically slept the whole time.” She rubbed his back lightly.

Scott was silent for a long moment. “Do you remember when Stiles and I were little and we used to have sleep overs and pretend to sleep? I don’t think we actually went to bed until like four or five in the morning,” he told her his eyes glazed over. “The next day one of us would inevitably end up waking up super early and because we didn’t want to be bored we’d wake each other up.”

“Yes, I remember those nights.” Melissa gave him a faint knowing smile. “The two of you were never as quiet as you thought you were.” Though between her worry about Scott’s asthma, and Stiles’ nightmares and sleep-walking adventures, Melissa had been on particularly high alert those nights, just in case one of them needed her. Most of the time they hadn’t. But once in awhile she’d had to burst in the room with Scott’s inhaler or cradle Stiles in her arms while he screamed for his own mother. Melissa's chest tightened at the memories.

Scott lifted his tie in his hands picking at the edge, “Well those days used to always feel like we were in some kind of daze, a dream because we were both so tired...that’s what it feels like now. Like I’m trapped in some place that can’t really be real.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry that sounds about right.”

Scott glanced down, “Sometimes I just want to be normal,” he said in a shaky voice, “These past two days I’ve been thinking...I brought Allison into this Mom. I’m the reason her mom died and now I’m the reason she’s gone even if it is indirectly.” Scott moistened his lips, “I’ve got so many people’s lives in my hands and I just don’t know how to keep everyone safe.”

“Oh, Sweetheart. No,” she said, her voice more firm now. “Listen to me.” She shifted so her body was turned toward him. “Allison was going to end up in this life one way or another. Her parents were werewolf hunters. Because of you, Allison was on the right side of this fight. And if it hadn’t been for you, she wouldn’t have been, and I know that deep down you know that, because you are smart.” Her jaw tightened at the mention of Allison’s mother. “As for her mother...her attempt on your life negated any kind of sympathy I could ever have for her. That was her choice. Not yours. People are going to do what they’re going to do, Scott. And that isn’t your responsibility.”

Scott nodded trying to keep the tears at bay. “Mom,” his voice shook, “It hurts so bad,” he whispered brokenly as a few tears finally broke free and slipped down his cheeks. “Everything inside me feels broken.” He placed a hand over his eyes as pain filled his chest.

Melissa's eyes filled with tears at his words and she wrapped her arms around him tightly. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.” She stroked his hair gently. “And it’s going to hurt for a long time.” She’d never made it a practice of lying to her son because he was smart. He’d see right through her. “But I promise you that one day it won’t be this bad. One day you’re gonna wake up and the pain’s going to be a little less. It’ll be gradual, and slow, but I promise that you’re going to get through this.”

Scott held onto her, his voice stuck in his throat so he just nodded. Hopefully his Mom was right because honestly he wasn’t sure how much of this he was going to be able to take before he broke. Scott didn’t know what he was going to do without Allison in his life. Since the moment he’d met her she’d changed something inside of him and now...she was gone and Scott didn’t know what that meant for him, Lydia, Stiles or the rest of the pack.

______

 

Stiles sat still and silent on the edge of his bed, where he’d spent the majority of the last forty-eight hours. His face was still several shades paler than usual, dark circles underneath his eyes that he wasn’t sure were ever going to go away. And maybe, he couldn’t help but think, they shouldn’t. Maybe it was just part of him now, the way that the mark behind his ear was a part of him. The way that the darkness around his heart was a part of him.

He was the sum total of a lot of parts, bits and pieces, but he wasn’t whole. He hadn’t been before this, and he was even less of a whole person now.

His body still hurt. Breathing hurt -- his chest felt like there was a constant weight atop of it and sometimes he coughed so hard it felt like his lungs were brittle pieces of tissue paper that were trying to extricate their way out of his body. He didn’t blame them, really. He didn’t exactly want to be in his body either. He was weak, and tired, and his dad was in his own room preparing for yet another funeral. Another funeral that Stiles had been the cause of, even if he knew his dad didn’t look at it that way.

Stiles rubbed a tired hand over his face, willing his body to move in the direction of the bathroom so that he could shower. He hadn’t even bothered the previous day. Hadn’t been awake long enough for it to matter.

His gaze drifted to a picture on his nightstand -- Scott and Allison and Lydia together at some get together, smiling and happy. His chest tightened painfully and for a moment he struggled for his next breath because the guilt was so overwhelming, so crushing that he wasn’t sure he had the will to draw in another mouth full of oxygen.

It should have been him. He knew that. Everyone knew that.

Chris should have killed him that day. Should have pulled the trigger and ended it before the worst had happened. Hot tears stung his eyes and he lay back in the bed, body shuddering as he pressed his hand to his face, wanting to scream. But no sound escaped him.

______

Michael fixed his suit jacket and let out a long breath. This wasn’t right. Allison had been too young to die. He couldn’t seem to reconcile everything that had been happening lately with the teenagers he knew. Every day was a struggle for them, a new danger and he hated it. He hated that they had to deal with the things they dealt with on a daily basis.

Michael turned away from the mirror in his bedroom and moved slowly out into the hallway his movements measured. “Stiles,” he called out as he made his way towards his son’s bedroom. Michael stepped inside and frowned, moving forward quickly. He gripped his son’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked worry clear on his face.

Stiles needed to pull himself together because he could hear the worry in his dad’s voice even if his vision was too blurred with tears to see it. He drew in a shuddering breath, nodding and rubbing his hand over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, Dad.” His voice was thick and he knew he was a mess in more ways than one and he had to pull himself together because this wasn’t about him. This was about her. This was about Scott. And Lydia. And Isaac.

It was about Chris Argent. Chris Argent who literally had no one left at all.

Stiles swallowed hard, forcing himself to sit up and pretend that he didn't believe every single bit of what happened was on his conscience. “You leaving?”

Michael nodded as he rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Yeah, in a few minutes.” He said quietly. “Melissa called a little while ago saying she was going to try and get Scott and Isaac out of the house soon,” he explained. “Everyone is meeting up at the cemetery.” He told Stiles. Despite the fact that he was glad to have his son home, Michael was worried.

Stiles wasn’t doing great and sure he knew it took time, but it had been two days and he didn’t see that much of an improvement. Suffice it to say Michael was scared. He needed Stiles to be okay.

Stiles nodded slightly, trying very hard not to let the guilt he felt reflect in his eyes. “Did she say how Scott was doing? Is he okay?” It was a stupid question, really. Of course Scott wasn’t okay. Scott’s best friend had gotten the love of his life killed. Even Jackson hadn’t done that.

Michael sighed, “I think we both know Scott’s not okay, no one is okay.” He said quietly, “He’s worried about you though,” he added as he rubbed the back of his neck trying to read the expression on his son’s face. “Talk to me Stiles...what’s going on in that head of yours?” He asked lightly.

“I’m just worried about Scott and Lydia.” He swallowed hard. “And Mr. Argent.” He dropped his gaze to his hands, fingers twisting together anxiously and he wondered if it was too soon to take another Xanax. It was the latest prescription he’d grown increasingly in need of.

Michael nodded shifting his hand and resting it on Stiles’ arm. “I’m worried too,” he admitted. “Scott’s got a good support system though with his Mom and us,” he squeezed his son’s arm gently, “Everyone is going to get past this eventually. It’s going to take time but eventually it won’t hurt so bad.”

Stiles nodded even as tears burned his eyes again, swallowing heavily, past the lump of sorrow and guilt that seemed to be a constant presence there now. “You should probably get going,” he said quietly.

Michael hesitated, “Stiles, you know that if you’re feeling up for it you can come with me right?” He asked quietly, “The only reason I suggested you stay home was because I was worried you weren’t feeling great. I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.” He explained.

“I know, Dad,” Stiles said quietly, because he did understand. He knew his dad was afraid, afraid that despite the fact Stiles wasn’t possessed anymore, that he was still going to lose him somehow. Stiles was kind of afraid of the same thing for different reasons. He knew what a heavy toll the last few weeks had been for his father. For everyone. It seemed like it was going to get worse before it got better, and Stiles held no illusions that it was going to get better anytime soon. He’d lost enough people since he was eight years old that he knew the road to everyone healing was going to be long, bumpy and most of all, incredibly painful. The thought alone was exhausting.

Michael nodded and sighed, “Okay,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “I’m going to head out then. If you need anything just call. I think I’ll do a drive by past the Martin house on the way,” he commented as he stood.

Stiles' heart clenched at the mention of Lydia. “Okay.” His gaze strayed to his phone where he knew he had a lot of unread text messages.

Michael sent Stiles half a smile. “I love you, son. I’ll see you soon.” He squeezed his arm one last time before turning and heading for the bedroom door.

“I love you too, Dad,” he said quietly, watching him go.


	3. Chapter 3

The weather was gorgeous. It was an odd thing to notice at a funeral, but accurate nonetheless. The sun shone brightly in the sky and there was a light breeze drifting across the cemetery, but despite the warmth of the air, Lydia couldn’t seem to get warm. There was a priest talking, reading some scripture, but the words they didn’t really make sense in her head. People stood around the coffin sitting atop the plot waiting to be lowered inside and for some strange reason all Lydia wanted to do was scream. She wanted to reach out and pull her best friend back from wherever she was.

But it wasn’t possible. Logically Lydia knew that. She stood beside Mr. Argent, and Scott stood on the other side of him. She’d seen Derek behind them and Isaac beside Scott. The sheriff was on the other side of her and Ms. McCall was by Scott. There were people everywhere. But the only thing Lydia could look at was the coffin.

Knowing her best friend was inside of it made her chest tighten painfully. She was gripping her hands tightly in front of her body and she was much paler than usual. Lydia had thought about putting makeup on, but instead decided for once that she just didn’t care. She didn’t care what her hair looked like or what her face looked like. She didn’t care what people said. Her best friend was dead.

Lydia felt her stomach roll as the priest kept speaking. Soft voices whispered in her head, mourning, talking, telling. She didn’t understand so instead Lydia decided to try and focus on what the priest was saying. It was difficult all she could feel was everyone’s pain, their emotions breaking through the same way she’d heard things back at Eichan House when the Nogitsune had taken her.

Lydia could feel the tears in her eyes, but so far she’d done of a good job of holding them back. Isaac was crying...so was Mr. Argent. Bags filled the space beneath her eyes and she squeezed them shut tightly not sure how she was going to be able to hold back the emotion building inside of her. Lydia’s breathing picked up speed as the priest started talking about final goodbyes. A soft sob bubbled up from her throat and in that moment she felt something. An urge to open her eyes. Lydia ignored the tears that were now sliding down her cheeks and turned her head letting her eyes flutter open. Surprise crossed her face at what she saw. Moving slowly across the grass in their direction was Stiles.

It had taken him over an hour to get through a shower and get dressed. Truthfully he probably shouldn’t have been driving under the influence of the Xanax. The longer he’d lain in bed after his dad had left for Allison’s funeral, the worse that Stiles had felt. Not just physically, but sick with guilt. He needed to be there for Scott and Lydia. For the pack. Because that was how it worked in a pack.

Stiles knew that he looked terrible. That the dark suit he wore only served to illustrate how very pale his skin was. It was also about three sizes too big now and the word walking skeleton had come to mind when he’d glanced at himself in the mirror. It was also the only suit that he’d had, which was obviously poor planning on his part, but other than funerals and the winter formal a year and a half ago, there hadn’t been reasons for him to own more than one.

The day was unnaturally beautiful, a complete contrast to his mood. To the moods of everyone there, he was sure. Kids weren’t supposed to die. Allison Argent wasn’t supposed to die. Halfway to the cemetery he’d had to pull off on the side of the road, throwing up the crackers he’d choked down for breakfast that morning. The unintentional purging had left him shaky and less out of it than he had been under the Xanax.

Stiles had parked his jeep at the back of the line of cars at the funeral and had moved slowly, crossing the grass and avoiding stepping on any of the other graves in the path. His heart was beating too fast in his chest by the time he reached the crowd, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of people there. It looked like half the school had turned up for it, as well as a lot of people he didn’t recognize and he assumed were friends with Chris Argent. Hunters, he thought, feeling ill for a new reason as his gaze darted around until he located all of the rest of the pack. Scott, Lydia, Isaac, Derek, the twins, his dad, Scott’s mom, Chris. It took him a moment to realize that Lydia was staring at him with wide eyes. She looked exhausted, but as beautiful as ever and his heart squeezed painfully as he met her gaze.

Lydia shifted slightly, her legs still shaky though she couldn’t understand why. Her whole body seemed out of whack. But she went to move again to make room for him because she wasn’t sure he could get to Scott, Lydia nearly stumbled.

The sheriff’s hand had steadied her worry on his face as he glanced down at her sending a questioning look in her direction not sure what she was trying to do.

Lydia nodded in Stiles’ direction and when the sheriff glanced in the direction she nodded in he spotted his son. He did his best not to worry about how Stiles had gotten there because he knew his son was just trying to be there for his friends and he understood that.

Stiles hesitated even though Lydia’s intent was clear. She wanted him to move to the front with the rest of them and it took him a full minute and a lot of deep breathing to force his feet forward through the crowd, trying very hard not to accidentally bump into anyone or touch anyone. The day was warm, but his skin was still cold. He caught sight of a familiar but unexpected face halfway through the people gathered and he stopped in his tracks and stared at Jackson for a few seconds, a bolt of shock running through him. Jackson was crying.

It was something his brain couldn’t process so he turned away, hesitantly moving up front with his dad and Lydia, beads of cold sweat were on his forehead by the time he made it there. His legs were shaky, like jello. Swallowing hard, he reached out and laid a hand at the small of her back, a gesture he wouldn’t have dared try even just a few short months ago. He looked at her, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms and hug her because she looked so completely lost and Stiles didn’t know how to handle that. He wasn’t good with emotions. He wasn’t good with a lot of things. His gaze shifted momentarily to the coffin in front of them, a cold chill working its way through his body and he barely managed to suppress a shudder at the thought that Allison was in that box, and she was never coming back out of it, the same way that his mother was never coming back out of hers.

Michael placed a hand on his son’s shoulder glad that he’d decided to come. He knew that no matter how Stiles was feeling he needed closure just like everyone else.

Scott was staring at the ground, when he heard the erratic heartbeat only a few feet away from him. He thought it was Lydia at first, but when he glanced over and spotted Stiles, Scott’s chest tightened. His best friend didn’t look good, but he was there and that gave Scott hope. The priest said something and then out of the corner of his eye he saw Argent step forward.

A hint of confusion crossed Scott’s face until he saw Argent lift a hand full of dirt out of the pile. He spoke several words in French and then dropped the soil on the coffin before resting his hand on it, several tears falling from his eyes.

Chris stepped back and Scott hesitated not sure what to do. Before he could take a step Isaac was already moving forward. Scott watched as his friend sprinkled the dirt on Allison’s grave, eyes red, tears freely flowing. He heard Isaac mumbled ‘I love you’ before turning back and coming to stand by him and Melissa again.

Scott swallowed heavily as he stepped forward. It felt like all eyes were on him. Things seemed like they were moving slower as he reached for the soil, it was cakey in his hands. He walked toward the grave his chest tight. If he did this...then this was it. Allison was really gone. He lifted his hands over the coffin and it shook slightly. He hesitated, not ready to let go.

Scott slowly released the soil in his palm, his face breaking as he ducked his head, shoulders shaking with his tears. He must have been standing there longer than normal because he felt two hands on his shoulders and when he glanced back he noticed one was Argent and the other was Derek. Scott let them guide him back as he wiped his hand across his face getting rid of the tears, pain embedding itself in his chest.

The grief in Stiles’ chest grew as he watched his best friend and the girl he’d loved for a decade try to say goodbye to one of the most important people in their lives. He’d tried to move forward when Scott had frozen in front of the coffin, crying, but Chris Argent and Derek Hale had beat him to it. God this is painful, he thought.

Lydia felt Mr. Argent’s eyes on her before she felt the hand on her arm. Her heart jumped in her chest and she could feel it pick up speed as she stepped forward slowly, her heels sinking into the earth as she walked, her dress blowing gently in the wind. Her long hair was pulled to one side and that too blew gently in the wind. Her hand shook as she reached for the soil, her composure quickly fading.

Lydia's palm curled around the cold earth and when she lifted her arm over the coffin it shook too. Lydia held it there for a minute and the second some of the soil slid from her fingers a soft sob broke free from her throat shattering the silence surrounding everyone. She broke down right there not caring that everyone could see her because the grief inside of her was eating her alive. Her small body shook with it. Allison was the only person she really had in her life...the only person who made her feel like she wasn’t completely alone. But now, she had nothing and it was her own fault. She should have warned them better.

The Nogitsune had wanted her because of what she could feel...and now she understood why. Because she felt every ounce of pain that surrounded her. The cemetery was full of death and she felt that. She felt everything, every moment, every memory...Lydia stood on shaky legs almost like the emotions whirling around her were too much to even keep her up right. Her empty hand fell to the coffin and it was like her body just gave into the grief.

Before Chris or Scott could shift forward to pull Lydia back, Stiles forced himself to close the short distance between them.

He reached out and laid a shaking hand on her shoulder, knowing that right now all eyes were on the two of them. Stiles wondered how many aside from the pack knew that he was the one responsible for their grief and pain today. He blinked back tears as he took a step closer so that they were side by side and he swallowed hard before reaching down and taking her hand in his, clasping onto it tightly but not trying to pull her away. Not until she was ready. (Would any of them ever be ready?)

After a moment he felt another presence at his side and he glanced sideways to see his dad sprinkling soil on Allison’s coffin and for the first time he realized how much older he looked. Like he’d aged twenty years overnight. He’d done that, too.

Lydia’s hand tightened around Stiles’, his presence snapping her out of the bubble of grief she’d been immersed in. She turned her head bringing her free hand up to her mouth realizing that everyone was looking at them. Lydia needed to move. It was just taking a while for that message to reach her feet.

Michael placed a hand on his son’s arm worried. Stiles and Lydia both looked incredibly unstable. It honestly looked like one or both of them could be knocked over by a strong wind. And Stiles...he just didn’t look healthy.

Lydia sucked in a few small breaths as other people started to move around them, which finally snapped her out of her stupor. She kept her hand in Stiles’ as she shifted back the sudden urge to be as far away from the coffin as possible gripping her.

Stiles could practically feel the anxiety rolling off her in waves and he tightened his hand in hers just a little, letting his dad guide them back away from the rest of the approaching crowd who were waiting to say their final goodbyes. He felt like every ounce of warmth from his body had been drained out, like he’d just gotten out of a sixteen hour ice bath. Instinctively he looked over his shoulder at the coffin again, chest feeling tight and eyes wet with unshed tears.

Stiles met Chris Argent’s gaze and all the air left his lungs at the sadness he found there. It was so much like the grief he’d seen for so long in his dad’s eyes after his mom had died. He felt a flutter of panic making its way up through his body but he held his breath so it wouldn’t get out of control. He didn’t understand why Chris wasn’t staring at him like he’d killed Allison. Didn’t understand why he didn’t see blame in the man’s face. Why the man actually smiled at him very faintly even if it didn’t reach his eyes.

Nothing really made sense anymore.

People were moving around, turning away and heading back toward their cars and from that point on things seemed to move quickly. Five minutes later there were only a handful of people left. Lydia glanced around and spotted Ms. McCall with Isaac and Scott, Kira was also there not far from Scott. Mr. Argent stood beside Derek surprisingly. Her eyes moved past them and she stiffened beside Stiles when she spotted Jackson.

If it was possible her face paled even more. Lydia’s chest tightened and then the priest was talking again. There was a noise and then the coffin shifted and started to sink into the ground. Lydia sucked in a sharp breath and stepped forward, her mouth opening as she felt a scream building in her throat. No, she couldn't do that here. Lydia had to hold it in, bury it.

Stiles felt her tense beside him and glanced over to see Jackson standing a few feet away. He wished he could have warned her somehow without words, but there hadn’t been a way for him to do that. He looked down at the way her fingers curled more tightly around his and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand wordlessly. When he looked back up he could see Jackson’s gaze zeroed in on their hands, as well, a passive expression on his face.

Lydia felt her feet shifting forward again when another hand gripped her arm gently stopping her movements. She glanced to her side and met Scott’s gaze. He must have sensed something because one second he was by his Mom and Isaac and the next he was by her side. Lydia looked away from the coffin not wanting to see it disappear beneath the ground.

Scott glanced at Stiles and reached behind Lydia to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder. He was glad he’d come. They needed each other now more than ever.

Before Stiles could think too much about Jackson’s lack of reaction, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked to see Scott, face drawn and weary. The pain in his best friend’s eyes made his heart hurt more than it already did, and without letting go of Lydia’s hand, he shifted forward and hugged Scott tightly with his free arm, careful to make sure his skin didn’t come in direct contact with Scott’s.

Scott returned the hug releasing Stiles a couple of minutes later. They stood there as the coffin came to a stop no longer in sight. Scott heard it stop though. This was it. The final moment and Scott wasn’t sure what to do. The priest was closing his book and stepping away from the plot. He pulled his hands back from his friends, “I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

The service was over and his Mom, Isaac and Kira were moving closer to them as was Jackson. Scott straightened up and walked over to Mr. Argent and Derek. He paused beside the older man and swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of protecting her,” it hurt too much to say her name out loud. “I understand if you can’t forgive me, but I wanted to say that...that I loved Allison since the minute I saw her and,” Scott let out a shaky breath, “I’ll always love her.” He felt a tear slip down his cheek despite trying to hide it.

“Scott.” Chris’s voice was quiet and he shook his head slightly. “It isn’t your fault.” His voice was pained. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut at his best friend’s words. God. How could he even think this was his fault? Didn’t he know who was really to blame here? Didn’t he understand that Chris was right? That Scott hadn’t done anything wrong? The knowledge that Scott was blaming himself for Allison’s death, and that Lydia likely was too, hurt more than his own guilt. He swallowed hard and looked at the strawberry-blonde, who looked lost and frail. He wanted to get her out of there, to pull her away from this place. To pull them all away from this place but once again, he was helpless.

Stiles felt someone’s gaze on him and he turned to see Isaac looking at him from a few feet away.

Isaac’s gaze zeroed in on Stiles. His jaw clenched, eyes turning to slits. This was his fault. Allison was dead because of Stiles. He didn’t know how Lydia could stand to be around him after what he did.

Isaac let his gaze drift away from Stiles as he walked with Ms. McCall toward Chris. He would deal with Stiles when he was alone. They paused in front of Chris and Isaac slipped his hands into his pockets and gazed at the ground listening as Ms. McCall gave him her condolences.

Isaac glanced at Scott watching as he walked back towards Stiles and Lydia. He spotted Jackson’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Curious he watched as the other teenager followed Scott.

Scott paused in front of Stiles and Lydia brushing the tears away from his eyes before glancing over his shoulder. He turned taking Jackson in. “You heard,” he said quietly.

“Danny,” Jackson said, looking uncomfortable even though his eyes were red-rimmed. He looked at Scott for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Lydia, falling silent.

“Can I drive you back to the church?” Jackson asked after a moment, voice hushed as he looked at Lydia.

Stiles gave her hand one final squeeze before letting go, nodding at Jackson without speaking and turning his head to look over at Chris Argent again. He rubbed his hand over his chest absently, swallowing heavily. The desire to turn and flee was stronger than ever and he spotted another figure he hadn’t noticed before watching them. Deaton. He was dressed in a suit like most of the guys, but his arm was in a cast. He’d almost forgotten that the man had been injured during the final battle with the nogitsune.

Lydia hesitated, her gaze drifting briefly to Stiles, who had already released her hand automatically assuming she'd leave him to go with Jackson. “I-”

Scott placed a hand on Lydia’s arm cutting of her words, “I’ll stay with him. Go ahead, you shouldn’t be driving yourself around right now anyway,” he said quietly.

Lydia didn’t want to leave Stiles. She’d much rather go with him and his Dad. She swallowed hard and then glanced back at Jackson. “Okay.”

“I’ll get her there safely,” Jackson said in a quieter tone than Stiles had ever heard him use before.

Stiles pursed his lips, nodding as he met Lydia’s eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll see you there shortly.” He glanced over to where his dad was standing, watching him with worried eyes and he forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Michael returned the smile even though he could see his son’s was forced. He was worried. Stiles just didn’t look well. His gaze shifted to Lydia and he noted that she didn’t look much better than his son.

Lydia reached out and squeezed Stiles’ arm gently before turning and glancing at Jackson, “I need to go talk to Mr. Argent.” She told him her voice quiet.

“Yeah of course,” Jackson told her, nodding and taking a step back to let her pass.

Stiles drew in a breath, eyes straying over to Chris once more and then quickly dropping to the ground as he rubbed his chest again.

Scott pressed a hand against his friends shoulder shifting so he was standing in front of Stiles as Lydia and Jackson walked away. “Are you okay?” He arched an eyebrow, "Honestly.” He added.

Even if he lied, Stiles knew Scott would know. He wouldn’t even have to listen for his heart beat to change pace. Scott just knew him too well. “I’m still pretty tired,” he admitted. “But I’ll be okay.” He hesitated. “Are you?”

Scott was quiet for a minute before shaking his head, “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again,” he said quietly. He ran a hand over the back of his head. “Do you want me to ride with you and your Dad to the church?” He asked because he wanted to. He was utterly terrified that Stiles wasn’t going to get better and that they were going to lose him too. Scott wouldn’t know what to do if that happened. “Kira is here too would you mind if she came?” he pointed across the grass to where his Mom and Isaac were. Kira was standing beside them.

Guilt flickered across Stiles’ face at Scott’s words and he looked down for a moment. If there was one thing he could relate to, it was that. He swallowed hard, following Scott’s gaze to where Kira and Isaac stood with Ms. McCall. The look that Isaac gave him was a lot more on par with reality than the ones that he was getting from everyone else. He held his breath for a moment. “Up to you, Dude. I brought the jeep. Maybe you should...stay with Isaac.” His voice was soft.

Scott shook his head, “No, I’m pretty sure Isaac is going with Chris,” he commented quietly. “I’ll grab Kira and we’ll come with you. You’re another one who doesn’t look like you should be driving,” he said pointedly. Plus he needed to get out of the cemetery. It was all getting to be a little too much. “We should probably see if we can find someone to take Lydia’s car home for her.” He said patting his friend’s back gently. His talk with Allison's dad hadn’t made the guilt go away, but knowing Argent didn’t blame him...well that helped a little.

Stiles nodded slightly, glancing back at his dad and hesitating a moment. “We can just come back for the jeep later.” Scott was right. He didn’t feel well enough to drive again, really. And he really didn’t want to end up smashing his jeep into someone else’s vehicle and wind up with another person’s blood on his hands. “Maybe you and Kira could drive Lydia and her car home later, too.”

Scott tilted his head, “If she doesn’t go with Jackson,” he added, “Let me just get Kira and then we’ll go,” he paused catching Stiles’ gaze, “All of us.” Scott didn’t like that Stiles kept leaving himself out.

“Okay.” He didn’t argue because he didn’t feel like it and there was no reason to. He watched as Scott headed over to where Kira was and he slowly crossed the distance between him and his dad. “Scott and Kira are gonna ride with us back to the church. That’s okay right?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Michael nodded, “Of course it is.” he wrapped an arm around his son, “How are you feeling?” He asked while giving him a once over. Stiles was still way too cold and pale for his liking.

“I’m okay, Dad,” he said quietly, leaning against him both for support and because his dad felt a lot warmer than he did. He wasn’t the one he was worried about.

Michael tightened his grip on him, “You will be.” He said as he watched Lydia hug Chris Argent before stepping back so Jackson could shake his hand. They spoke for a couple of more minutes and he winced when he saw Lydia start crying again. Poor girl, he thought before glancing at Stiles. “It seems like everyone is heading out. Why don’t I grab the car and bring it around for you guys?” He asked.

Stiles nodded silently, letting his dad pull away so he could go and get the car. He watched him head away, then glanced over to where Ethan and Aiden were standing. He was kind of surprised to see they were still hanging around, but he wasn’t surprised to see the wary way that Aiden was looking at him. Ethan, as usual, looked a little more sympathetic. But Stiles didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t deserve it, either. He turned away from their looks, gaze traveling over the rest of the cemetery until it stopped on the familiar grave. He wanted to go over there because it had been awhile, but he remained still and silent, starting slightly when Melissa McCall suddenly materialized in front of him.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d been hovering anxiously as he and his dad got ready to leave her house. The time before that, she’d been afraid of him. Stiles couldn’t blame her for that. “Hi.”

Melissa smiled and reached out cupping Stiles’ cheek, her smile dimming when she felt how cold his skin was. “Hi sweetheart, it’s good to see you up and about,” she told him as she studied his face. He looked tired and worn down. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles forced a smile even though all he wanted to do was apologize to her. “I’m okay,” he answered with a nod, shifting his gaze over to Scott. “Worried about Scott and everyone.” Which was an understatement, really. He was more than worried. He didn’t know how they were going to get through this.

Melissa nodded her face sobering up. “I’m worried too,” she said watching Stiles. The guilt in his eyes was clear even though he tried to hide it. “I’m worried about you too. So is Scott,” she told him her gaze moving to her son briefly, “And Lydia.” Melissa added as she watched the red head walking toward the line of cars glancing back at Stiles every so often.

Stiles' stomach twisted with the easy way that she saw through his act and he held his breath for a moment. “I’m gonna be fine. I’m still worn out but apparently that’s normal after demonic possession.” He followed her gaze to Lydia, hesitantly lifting his hand in a wave when he saw her looking back at him. He looked back at Melissa again. “The things I said that day,” he began his voice almost inaudible.

Melissa pursed her lips and stepped closer to him placing her hand on his arm. “That wasn’t you,” she said without hesitation. “My Stiles,” she smiled cupping his cheek, “My sweet troublemaker would never say those things. You don’t owe me an apology because you didn’t do it even if you remember it. They weren’t your words.”

Wordlessly Stiles wrapped his arms around her, swallowing heavily. “It was wrong anyway,” he whispered. “It wasn’t why I didn’t say anything.” He closed his eyes. “He’d never hate you. Not ever.”

Melissa’s chest tightened at Stiles’ words and she hugged him back. “We’re going to get through this, Stiles, all of us. Eventually things will get better.”

Stiles pulled away a long moment later, his dark eyes and eyelashes wet as he nodded. “I know.” Eventually, he thought. He just had a feeling it wasn’t going to be for a long, long time.

______

 

Scott moved through the sea of people in his house, attempting to smile at some and nodding at others. Allison’s wake was full of people and even though he was glad there were so many people around to celebrate her life all he really wanted was some time alone. Scott could see his mom and the sheriff standing with Allison’s Dad.

Derek was melding into the shadows, something he wasn’t all that surprised about, Aiden and Ethan had stopped by, but left not long ago, and Isaac was in the kitchen. Scott hadn’t seen Lydia in a while, but he knew she was still there because she didn’t have a car to leave with.

Danny was talking to Jackson, Deaton was around somewhere and Stiles...Scott wasn’t sure where his best friend was, but he planned to try and find him as soon as he had a minute alone. Scott moved up the stairs quickly making his way to his bedroom. He pushed the door open closing it behind him and let out a sigh. Just a few minutes alone...that was all he needed.

Scott sat on his bed and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in. He let his body fall back as he stared at the ceiling. He could feel the familiar grief bubbling up to the surface, but instead of pushing it away this time, he let it come. Scott closed his eyes and let the memories run through him thoughts of Allison filling his head. He needed this...just a few minutes he’d pretend everything was okay. His friends were happy and healthy and life wasn’t falling apart around him.

_________

 

Stiles needed to be away from all the people in the house because he felt like the walls were closing in. He never used to feel that way around crowds, even if he’d never really fit in with any of them. He just wasn’t that bothered by his inability to make friends aside from Scott. He’d been sitting outside on the patio out back for a good fifteen minutes when he heard the sliding glass door open. He half expected it to be Scott or his dad or Lydia, but when he turned to look and saw Isaac he looked down at his hands, not speaking.

He and Isaac had never really gotten along very well, and he knew that was largely in part his own fault. Stiles didn’t exactly like sharing his best friend with the guy, but he was trying to get over that because he didn’t think Isaac was a bad guy, really. They were just too much alike -- or possibly too entirely different -- and that made getting along difficult. He heard the other man’s footsteps approaching slowly but he didn’t look up again as he twisted his fingers together on his lap.

Isaac had been waiting for a moment alone with Stiles and when he’d walked past the doors and saw him sitting outside, he figured this would probably be the only opportunity he got. He walked down the steps until he was standing in front of Stiles. Isaac was silent for a full minute before speaking. “I know Scott and Lydia don’t blame you for what happened. This whole thing...it’s been one mess after the other. All because of the Nogitsune...because of you.” He swallowed hard.

“They might not blame you, but I do. The second you realized you were being possessed you should have come to us and you didn't and now,” Isaac paused his voice cracking slightly. He turned away from Stiles trying to reign in his emotions. “She’s gone,” he whispered. It took him a minute to pull himself together, and when he did he faced Stiles again catching his gaze. “I think Beacon Hills is a big place...But it’s not big enough for both of us.” He told him folding his arms over his chest.

Stiles shut his eyes at Isaac’s words, chest tightening. “You think I don’t know that, Isaac?” His voice was almost inaudible. “You’re not the only one who blames me.” He looked up at the werewolf, watching for the long painful moment as Isaac tried to pull himself together. “For the record, I tried. I told Scott that something was wrong. I just didn’t know what it was.” His voice was pained, full of regret. “And I’m sorry about Allison.” Saying her name caused physical pain in his stomach. In his heart.

“You have no idea how sorry I am.” There was no trace of kidding, no trace of his usual sarcasm. He just wasn’t that guy anymore.

“It doesn’t bring her back.” Isaac didn’t have many people in his life. He had Scott and Ms. McCall and he was pretty sure he even had Mr. Argent. But Allison, she was the only girl he’d ever loved. And they’d just...things between them were finally coming together and then it was all ripped away leaving him with a hole inside of his chest the size of a small city.

“I know that.” Stiles rubbed his hands over his face tiredly, shoulders slumping. “And if I could bring her back or take her place, I’d do it in a heartbeat. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen for everyone.”

Isaace swallowed hard. Everything hurt and looking at Stiles only made it worse. “You don’t belong here...You shouldn’t be here.”

Stiles swallowed painfully at Isaac’s words, because he was right. He’d known that even the day they’d killed the Nogitsune. He’d known he didn’t belong there with people like the McCall’s. It was why he’d bypassed Scott’s room when he’d crashed that night.

“Then why are you still here?” he asked. Isaac’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to see you again after tonight.” He stepped closer to Stiles. “I don’t care if you stay in your house forever or you leave town. But if I see you again…” He paused thinking about Allison, “Well, I hope that doesn’t happen. This is the only time I’m going to warn you,” He told him, his voice hard, fists clenched at his sides.

Stiles looked up at Isaac silently and rose to his feet wearily. “You’re not that kind of guy, Isaac,” he said quietly, though he turned and headed for the door. “And I can’t just leave town. Not with my dad and Scott and Lydia.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I owe them more than that.”

Isaac swallowed hard. Allison wouldn’t want him to be that kind of guy...but he could be. He had been. “All you’re doing is hurting them. Don’t you see it? Scott is so worried about you that’s he’s not even worried about his pack. He’s an alpha Stiles, people count on him. But he’s too busy worrying about you to help,” he said to Stiles’ back.

“And Lydia...She’s so broken I barely recognize her and all she can think about is helping you. Making sure you’re getting better. What about her?” He asked, “Allison once told me that she was glad she and Lydia were best friends because she’d hate to think how alone Lydia would feel if she weren’t there. Surrounded by people and not one person really knows her. Allison is the only one she ever let in.” He paused taking a step closer.

“I went by her house you know, to check on her over the past two days...Allison would have wanted to make sure she was okay. I found her curled up in a dark corner asleep, tears dried up on her face, all alone. That’s where she spent days…” Isaac had put her in bed and left, but at least he checked.

“She looks like she hasn’t slept or eaten in days. Scott too, but at least he has his Mom there to make sure he’s doing the basics. But Lydia...she can’t heal with you here neither can Scott. They’re too busy taking care of you instead of themselves. If you were such a good friend you’d realize that.” Issac told him quietly.

“Do you even know where Scott is or Lydia? I haven’t seen Scott in like twenty minutes and I haven’t seen Lydia in even longer. But you’re sitting out here feeling sorry for yourself so you wouldn’t know, would you?” He asked with a shake of his head. “You know I’m right.”

Stiles blanched, feeling overwhelmed and sick at everything Isaac was saying. Was he right? Were they too concerned about him that they weren’t taking care of themselves? Would it be best for everyone if he just took off? He could practically hear the demon in his head. You are the useless member of the pack, aren’t you, Stiiiiles? It’s why it was so easy for me to get you to let me in.

Stiles didn’t turn around to look at the curly-headed wolf before he pushed the sliding glass door open and headed inside the house without another word, steering clear of Ms. McCall as she weaved her way into the kitchen to get someone a refill of a drink. He made his way toward the stairs, tears stinging his eyes.

Stiles climbed them slowly, each step painful and dizzying until he made his way into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He rubbed his hand over his chest, over his heart as it beat hard against his chest. He sank down onto the edge of the McCall’s bathtub and drew in a shuddering breath, leaning over and laying his head on his arms. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t fix anything. He knew that. The problem was, he didn’t know if Isaac had the right idea.

The idea of leaving town, of just getting the hell out of there, away from everything, was both terrifying and yet not entirely unappealing either. He sat there silently for a long few moments, mind going blank at the possibilities.

He finally got back up tiredly, splashing water onto his face to wash away the tears from his cheeks and eyes. He dried his face off and exited the bathroom, pausing momentarily outside of Scott’s closed bedroom door. Swallowing hard, he laid a hand against it, shutting his eyes. What do I do?

Scott’s eyes fluttered open. He sensed Stiles outside of his door, but when his friend made no move to come in, Scott wiped off his face, stood up and walked over to the door. He pulled it open and cocked his head to the side. “Why are you just standing out here?” He asked curiously.

Stiles pulled his hand back, studying his best friend. His brother. “I wasn’t sure if you...I thought maybe you needed some time to yourself.” And truthfully he hadn’t been completely sure Scott was even inside until he’d heard his footsteps approaching.

Scott opened the door wider, “I did, but not from you,” he said quietly. “You’re family,” he clapped his hand on Stiles shoulder, “you know that.” He motioned for Stiles to come in so he could close the door again and keep out the sounds from downstairs, not that, that was even remotely possible with his hearing.

Stiles' chest tightened at that and he stepped inside the familiar room that had been like his own personal place of comfort for as long as he could actually remember. The sleepovers, the video game marathons, the all night talks they’d had about Lydia and Allison. Even before then, growing up, he’d spent hours in this room just hanging out with Scott, playing board games and doing homework. He swallowed heavily and turned to look at him. “Pretty crowded down there,” he said quietly.

Scott nodded. “It is,” he said quietly, “She was loved,” his voice broke on the words and he turned toward the window as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Stiles’ eyes burned at the break in Scott’s voice, at how lost he sounded. “Yes she was,” he whispered, stepping forward and reaching out to lay a hand on Scott’s back because that was what they did when the other was broken. And Scott was beyond broken because Stiles had broken him. Had broken all of them.

There was a light breeze blowing in from the window and Scott stood there for a minute letting it hit his body. “I’m tired of being down there with everyone...All it does is remind me she’s gone.” He admitted.

Stiles didn’t know how to put them back together. He wasn’t even sure if they could be. But Scott’s last words made a shudder pass through him and he thought of what Isaac had said just a little while ago. All you’re doing is hurting them. The pain in his chest was back again and he shut his eyes. He was right. There was literally nothing he could do for Scott or for Lydia. They’d heal more easily if his presence wasn’t there as a constant reminder of what he’d done. Of what they’d lost.

Scott felt his friend shudder and he turned a frown marring his brow. “You okay?” He asked quietly as he reached out to him. “You should sit, you’re not looking great,” he said glad to have something else to focus on other than what was currently going on. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine, Scott,” he said softly as the reality of the situation dawned on him. But he let Scott lead him over to the edge of his bed anyway. “Yeah. I ate earlier.” He had, it just hadn’t stayed down.

Scott nodded, “Good, you’re not going to get any better if you don’t take care of yourself,” He told his friend. And Scott needed him to get better. He couldn’t lose Allison and Stiles. He sat down beside Stiles and sighed. “Maybe we should just relax here for a bit,” he said as he rubbed his hands over his suit pants.

Stiles knew he should leave. That he should get as far away from Scott and Lydia and Beacon Hills as he possibly could for everyone’s sake. For their own good. But at Scott’s words, he just nodded because he was weak and he wasn’t ready yet. Soon, but not yet. He shifted back on the bed and laid back, staring up at the ceiling, at the glow in the dark stars and planets they’d stuck up there when they were seven because it was too rainy and cold outside for a campout one night.

Scott followed suit resting his hands behind his head and if he squinted and tuned out the people downstairs he could pretend this was just like any other night where he and Stiles were hanging out talking about Allison and Lydia.

Stiles turned his head to look at his best friend. “Hey, Scott?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Scott turned his head toward Stiles, but didn’t open his eyes. “Hmm?”

Stiles gazed at his best friend for a moment, chest tightening painfully. Wordlessly he reached out and gripped onto Scott’s shoulder

Scott’s eyes opened and he angled his head to the side before reaching up and placing a hand over Stiles’ not sure what the look on his friend’s face meant.

“I love you. You know that right?” Stiles shut his eyes.

Scott nodded, “I love you too, man. I love you too.” He patted his friend’s shoulder before dropping his hand and letting out a short sigh ready for the night to be over.

______

 

Jackson still couldn’t believe that Allison Argent was dead.

When Danny had broken the news, he’d sat down hard on his bed, going silent for a full moment before questioning what had happened. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he supposed, considering how many people in Beacon Hills had the tendency to end up dead. By Peter Hale or Matt or him (however involuntarily it had been) or human sacrifices (because yes, he kept up with the grapevine news via his best friend, who knew a lot more about what was going on thanks to less than subtle locker room conversations between McCall, Stilinski and Lahey), and a pack of alpha werewolves and now apparently a trickster spirit that had possessed Stilinski.

Despite the fact he’d never really liked the other guy and he knew the feeling was mutual -- aside from reasons involving Lydia Martin, and restraining orders -- he understood how shitty it felt to be some other being’s bitch and do terrible things to people you didn’t know and didn’t want to hurt. But he hadn’t returned from London for Stilinski. He’d come back because once upon a time, Allison had been a friend and even though they hadn’t been in touch, he still cared.

And he came back for Lydia. Because despite everything that had happened between them, including how badly he knew he’d hurt her, he did love her. He did want to try and help her through the loss of her best friend because he couldn’t imagine how terrible he’d feel if something happened to Danny. And maybe because he’d done a lot of changing over the last few months while he’d been away and he wasn’t the same jackass he’d been for most of his life. At least he didn’t think so. He supposed being back in Beacon Hills for any length of time was going to put that theory to the test.

These people had tried to kill him. And while he understood that, he did still feel a hint of bitterness. Of betrayal. He wondered how many times any of them had tried to kill Stiles. Wondered if he’d gotten a pass because he was McCall’s best friend and apparently Scott was now the leader of the pack.

Jackson made his way up the steps in the McCall house because even from downstairs he could hear Lydia crying softly from one of the rooms and he paused outside of it for a moment before turning the handle and stepping inside, not bothering to knock. Okay so maybe he hadn’t completely changed. He shut the door behind him and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, draping his arm around her shoulders wordlessly.

Lydia’s eyes fluttered open when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. She reached up and brushed her hand beneath her eyes. They burned and no matter how many times she blinked the tears just wouldn’t seem to stop coming. Honestly Lydia didn’t know how she still had any left.

She sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed hard, “What are you doing in here?” she asked her voice raspy from lack of use and a multitude of crying.

“I heard you crying,” he admitted, looking at her sideways, not offended by the surprise in her voice.

Lydia glanced at Jackson not entirely sure what to make of him. Their ride over to the church earlier hadn’t been bad, but it had been a little weird, for her at least. And now...he just seemed different and it was unnerving. “You realize I’m not your headache anymore, right? You don’t need to be here.”

Jackson grimaced at that. “Lydia…” He shook his head. “It’s not like that.” It had never been like that. Not really. He’d pushed her away because she’d gotten way too close. And Jackson didn’t want anyone that close.

“I’m fine,” Lydia said the same words she’d been repeating all day, which was why she’d hidden out in Scott’s guest room. She couldn’t take people staring and she couldn’t take the blanket of sadness that was permeating around the whole house. Lydia didn’t know how, but she was positive she was feeling the collective pain from everyone downstairs. Being in the same room with all of those people who were hurting like she was, just seemed to intensify her own pain.

Like when she’d been in the tunnel with the Nogitsune. The echoes of the pain and destruction in that place had nearly driven her to curl up in a ball. This was worse though because Allison wasn’t here...she’d never be there again. Lydia felt another sob building in her throat and a part of her hated herself for being so vulnerable in front of Jackson, even if he had changed.

The hell she was. Jackson pulled her closer to him, wrapping his other arm around her as well. He’d never been great at soothing a crying girl, but this was Lydia and while they’d both moved on, he still cared. He’d always cared, even when he’d denied it. Even when he’d treated her like shit. “I’m sorry about Allison.”

Lydia's attempted facade broke at his words and her body heaved slightly with the force of this new wave of tears. She leaned into Jackson bringing one hand up to clutch his shirt as a soft sob fell from her lips. “She can’t be gone...She’s Allison. God, this wasn’t supposed to happen.” She managed to murmur between tears.

Jackson rested his chin on top of her head, nodding his agreement, because he didn’t know what else to say. Words had never been his thing, comforting someone even less his thing, but he didn’t know what else to do, either. “No, it wasn’t,” he agreed.

“I tried to tell her, I tried,” Lydia shook her head, “She didn’t listen, none of them did.” She hated that they ignored her warning. They knew what she was, why had they ignored it? Lydia’s hand clenched against the material of his shirt, his familiar scent comforting. Lydia hated to admit it, even to herself, but a part of her had missed Jackson.

Jackson wasn’t entirely sure what she was talking about, but he decided now wasn’t the time to ask questions. She was too upset to make any real sense anyway. There were a lot of details that he was missing still. “It isn’t your fault.” That much he was confident about.

“She’s my best friend, I should have,” another bout of tears fell from her eyes and she pulled in a shaky breath. “I should have sent the message to Meredith...I should have told her it would be Allison and then they never would have come for me.” She mumbled something else but it was lost in her crying. Lydia shifted sliding an arm around Jackson’s neck hesitating for less than a minute before hugging him.

Who the hell was Meredith? Jackson wondered, feeling more confused by the minute and making a note to talk to Scott in the very near future. At least Scott hadn’t tried to actually kill him, unlike the guy who’d turned him in the first place. He said nothing this time, just hugged her back.

Lydia stayed liked that holding onto him like her life depended on it. “I miss her. God, I miss her and she hasn’t even been gone that long. I don’t know how to do this...I don’t know how to say goodbye, I feel,” she paused a lump forming in her throat as more tears spilled free. “like there’s this huge hole inside of me and it just keeps getting bigger.” It started with her sister dying, her parents deciding everything else was more important than her, Jackson leaving, now Allison...she couldn’t keep handling this stuff all alone.

That Jackson could relate to, at least on some level. “You’re gonna get through this,” he said quietly, confidence in his voice. “You know how I know that?”

“How?” She whispered the words against his shoulder, not moving from the comfort of his arms.

“Because you are Lydia Martin. The strongest woman I’ve ever met in my entire life,” Jackson said simply.

Lydia shifted back enough to look him in the eyes, his words making her heart warm slightly. “I don’t feel like that girl anymore...I feel...lost. And I don’t know how to find my way back.” She admitted.

Jackson reached up, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I don’t really know everything that’s happened obviously. But whether you feel like that girl anymore or not...you’re still her. And you’re gonna get through this,” he insisted firmly.

He sounded so sure and Lydia was too tired to argue with him...And maybe a part of her wanted to believe he was right. She was quiet for a minute as she studied his face. “I missed you,” she whispered.

There was a flicker of emotion over Jackson’s face and he nodded. “I missed you, too,” he admitted.

Lydia blinked and shifted pulling her hand back so she could wipe her eyes. She took a shaky breath, her eyes burning not sure if it was from lack of sleep or crying so much, probably both. “I just want to go back. Things were okay a few weeks ago. She was okay, Stiles was okay and now,” Lydia shrugged. “I just want to go back,” she repeated. “I want one more day where everything is okay. And it’s such a stupid thing to want. And I am not a stupid girl.”

“Lydia.” He shook his head. “It’s not stupid. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted things to go back the way they used to be before…” Before werewolves. Before kanima’s. Before a lot of death and destruction and terror. “It’s a normal reaction.”

“I’m not normal, I’m exceptional...I should have a different reaction,” she mumbled, the statement at any other time probably would have been amusing. Lydia blinked her eyes again. God, she was tired.

It was still kind of an amusing statement. “Why don’t you lie down and try to get some rest?” he suggested, looking over his shoulder at the bed.

“I’m not tired.” It was a lie. But it fell out of her mouth easily. Whenever she closed her eyes she was back in that tunnel. She had dreams of her best friend...of the Nogitsune wearing Stiles’ face. Everything felt out of whack. She didn’t like sleeping.

“Well, then lay down and fill me in on all the stuff that’s been going on that I’ve missed out on.”

Lydia bit her bottom lip, her brows drawing together as she glanced at Jackson, “You’ll stay?” She asked hesitantly.

Jackson met her eyes. “Yeah. I”ll stay.”

Lydia let out a breath and then nodded, “Okay, I guess I have some time to fill you in on what’s been going on.” She said. She slipped her feet out of her heels and moved back on the bed until she was lying on her side at the top of the bed watching him.

Jackson nodded, sliding his own shoes off and scooting back so that his back was against the headboard and they were shoulder to shoulder. He reached out and laid a hand on her arm silently, waiting to hear all the insanity he’d been missing out on since he’d left for London.

He had a feeling it was going to take awhile.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles woke up slowly the next morning, wondering how he’d managed to wind up under the covers of Scott’s bed when they’d been laying on top of them. He opened his eyes slowly to find Scott sprawled out on his stomach beside him, still dressed in his suit and looking exhausted. One of his arms was hanging off the edge of the bed. His head was throbbing, like he’d gotten really, really drunk the night before and he was hungover, which he definitely hadn’t and therefore couldn’t be.

He peered at the clock on Scott’s nightstand. six thirteen in the morning. He rubbed a hand over his face wearily, bones aching as he sat up slowly, trying his best not to wake the sleeping werewolf. He managed to climb out of bed without too much trouble, looking down at his best friend for a long moment and then reaching down and pulling the covers up and around Scott’s shoulders.

Stiles made his way out of the bedroom and into the hallway listening but hearing nothing. He wondered if his dad had just decided to go home at some point the previous night, figuring he was okay there for the night. He paused outside Ms. McCall’s room, and then passed the closed door, catching sight of an unexpected figure in the guest room. The door was cracked open just a little and he stared inside at Jackson and Lydia, curled up together in the bed sleeping.

Probably should have seen that coming, he thought tiredly, though it hadn’t actually occurred to him even when Jackson had offered to drive Lydia back after Allison’s funeral. Swallowing hard, he pulled the door shut silently and walked down the stairs on shaky legs, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself despite the fact he was still wearing his suit jacket. He spotted Isaac on the sofa almost immediately.

Stiles pulled his shoes on at the front door and reached for the handle before turning around and looking at the house, memorizing everything that he could. He wasn’t going to be seeing it again. He contemplated pulling his phone from his pocket and texting his dad that he needed a ride home, but on the off chance that his dad was still in bed, he decided he’d just walk. It was a few blocks and he felt like crap, but the fresh morning air would at least help him clear his head enough to start formulating his plans.

By the time he made it home he was shivering uncontrollably and barely made it up the porch steps. He sat down hard in one of the chairs, teeth chattering and wondered idly if this was how bad Malia had felt when she said she was cold all the time. He wondered if she managed to turn herself back into a coyote and realized he’d never asked Scott if he’d been able to help her with that. He felt like he should care more about it than he did, but while he hoped she was okay, he wasn’t exactly hoping to see her again. Sleeping with her had been a stupid decision on his part. He’d been afraid, convinced he was about to die, and he’d missed Lydia. He hadn’t wanted to die a virgin. Jesus, he was so screwed up in the head. He laid his head in his arms the way he had the day before in the McCall’s bathroom.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Isaac was completely right. He had screwed everything up far too badly, had hurt everyone he cared about, had killed Allison even if it wasn’t with his own two hands. It was time to stop being selfish and do the right thing.

Stiles rose to his feet slowly, unlocking the front door and stepping inside the house. He wasn’t surprised to see his dad sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper. “Morning.” His voice was quiet.

Michael glanced up frowning when he saw his son. “Morning...how did you get home?” He asked folding his paper and putting it down beside him as he took in his son’s shivering form. He was doing everything in his power not to get up and smother Stiles. He knew that he needed to give Stiles a little space, but he still worried...a lot.

“I walked,” he admitted, moving into the kitchen and pulling down a clean mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup of hot coffee. Normally he added sugar to it at least, but he didn’t this morning. It would be the first of a lot of things he was going to change. He took a long drink, resisting the urge to make a face because as bitter as it was, it wasn’t as bitter as the aftertaste of the death and destruction he’d recently caused. Nothing could ever be that bitter.

Michael watched his son, something was different about him, but he wasn’t quite sure what. “You could have called, I would have come.” He offered folding his hands on the table. He was silent for several seconds before sighing. “What’s going on Stiles?”

Stiles' expression was pained at his dad’s question. He sounded so tired. So defeated. It was just another reason to add to his list. He was silent for a moment and he slowly moved over to sit down across from him, wrapping his hands around the mug tightly so that his hands wouldn’t shake. “I know you would have.” He didn’t look at him for a few seconds and when he did, his chest was tight. “Dad...there’s something that...we need to talk about.” And he knew his dad wasn’t going to like it at all.

______

 

Scott rolled his neck back and forth as he made his way down the steps. It had been a day since Allison’s wake and he hadn’t been up for going to school just yet so he’d taken the day off. Isaac was with Chris Argent and his Mom was working. It was just him and while he was glad he had some time to himself, he didn’t exactly want to be alone.

He walked to the front door and pulled it open to check the mail. Ever since the wake people had been delivering a lot of stuff to the house, cards, flowers, food. His mom had tried to explaining that they should send everything to Chris, but apparently no one seemed to be listening.

Stiles had been gone the other morning when he woke up and he figured now might be a good time to call him to come over and see how he was doing.

Scott reached into the mailbox and pulled out a bunch of envelopes, some bills, and a DVD? What the hell. He frowned at the small white slip of paper covering the DVD. Scott made his way back into the house closing the door behind him. He moved into the kitchen and put the mail down there before turning the DVD over in his hands.

Scott took the stairs two at a time heading to his bedroom so he could pop the DVD in his player and see what it was. Scott swallowed hard and bent down messing with his DVD player until he was able to open it and get the video inside.

Scott glanced around looking for the remote. He found it on the floor and bent down lifting it up. He reached out and pushed play, curiosity getting the better of him as he waited for it to start. When Stiles’ image filled the screen confusion crossed Scott’s face and he made the volume louder listening to what his friend was saying.

“Hey, Scottie.” Stiles looked and sounded as tired as ever, but there was something else in his tone, too. Something that made Scott’s stomach twist with dread even though his friend had only said two words. Resignation.

“First of all, I want to say I’m sorry for doing it like this, but...I couldn’t face you this time.” He looked down at his hands for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’ve gotta go for awhile. And I know my timing is really awful and I’m sorry for that, too.” He definitely sounded sorry, like he was just at the end of his rope and it scared Scott. “I uh -- I talked to my dad and I’m gonna be out of town. I don’t...exactly know for how long. I don’t actually know where I’m going, either. I just have to go.”

He drew in another ragged breath. “This isn’t really how I planned anything. But I think my plans kinda usually end up sucking anyway, right?” He smiled but it was a pained smile. “There’s some stuff I need to do. I realize how vague that sounds and I know you deserve an explanation and maybe one day I’ll be able to explain it to you and you’ll understand.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and Scott could see the tears shining his best friend’s eyes. Could hear the grief and guilt in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Scott. I know you don’t blame me and I love you for that. And for a million other reasons. You’re my brother and this is…” He watched as Stiles wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’m just sorry. And as per usual I have to be an asshole and follow up my apologies by asking you for two things. Look after Lydia. I mean, I know you will, but I don’t want her to be alone and I don’t want you to be alone either and maybe you guys can...take care of each other. I know I don’t have to ask you to look after my dad. I know you’re gonna do that anyway. You’re a good guy, Scott. The best guy I know aside from my dad.” He swallowed hard. “The second thing is...please don’t try and find me. Don’t look for me. I’m gonna be okay. I’m gonna be fine. I just need some time to clear my head and take care of some things I’ve been putting off. And...don’t blame yourself, okay? None of this was your fault, dude. Take care of yourself.” He exhaled. “And please don’t hate me.” The last request was whispered. “I know this makes me the shittiest friend on the planet, but...please don’t hate me anyway.” Stiles was silent for a moment. “I guess that was actually...four things. You know math isn’t really my best subject though.” He shrugged a shoulder.

“I love you, Scott. I just...I have to do this and it has to be now.” He chewed his lower lip. “You uh -- I’m leaving the keys to my jeep with my dad. You guys can use it if you ever need to. And uh -- you know, all the PS3 games and everything. You can take whatever you want. I’m not bringing them with me.” He hesitated for the briefest of moments. “I guess that’s...basically it. I’m not gonna say goodbye because this isn’t...I mean it isn’t a permanent thing and goodbye’s just...really overrated anyway.” He smiled, but it was strained. “Be safe. You’re gonna be okay.” Stiles reached out and the picture faded to black.

Scott stared at the screen silent for several minutes before he slowly sat on his bed and dropped his head down, tears falling from his eyes. He didn’t hate Stiles, he couldn’t. But he wished his friend would have talked through this with him. Leaving, being all alone out there somewhere after everything that had happened...cutting himself off from the people who loved him, that couldn’t be good or healthy.

And for more selfish reasons, what the hell was he going to do without Stiles? The past month had been hell without him and he had still been in town. But now...Scott shuddered as he gripped his head in his hands. He felt antsy in his own skin. This was the second pack member he’d lost and the loss...even though it wasn’t the same was as Allison, was devastating.

He stayed like that, head in hands, tears streaming down his face for a long time. Scott wasn’t even aware of how long until he noticed it was starting to get a little darker in his room. He glanced up and stared out the window for a minute. He needed to rip the band aid off. Scott pushed himself up and shook his head still not able to believe it was happening. Stiles was gone and Scott had no idea when he was coming back. His chest tightened and he stepped forward toward his desk to grab the keys to his bike. He’d tell his Mom when he got back, hopefully she’d be home by then, but until she was...he had to go tell Lydia something Scott was not looking forward to doing.

_______

 

Lydia stood in the middle of her bedroom. She wore a pair of cotton shorts and one of Stiles’ old shirts that she’d borrowed over the summer and had never given back. Something was bothering her. All day she’d felt like something was off. Not that, that was surprising, something was off. Allison was gone.

Jackson had left for London a few hours ago and she was once again alone in her cold dark house. Lydia sighed. Her gaze fell on the picture of her and Allison and she felt her chest tightening. She couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep getting this upset. She had to accept what happened and move on...But how?

Lydia shook the thought away and moved out of her bedroom and toward the stairs. She needed a drink. Maybe after some hydration she’d be able to figure out what the hell she was going to do to keep her mind off of things because so far nothing was working.

Scott stood outside of her house for several long moments, filled with utter dread and sorrow at the news he was about to deliver. He knocked lightly on the door in case she was sleeping, but he could hear footsteps moving through the house, and then coming closer to the door and he shut his eyes. God he didn’t want to do this. Not now. Not after everything else.

Lydia’s chest tightened at the sound of a knock on the door and the immediate hope that filled her chest. It wasn’t her, it was never going to be her. She swallowed hard, gripped the handle and pulled open the door. “Scott...Hey.” She said a hint of confusion on her face. It wasn’t often that Scott dropped by.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Do you uh -- do you have a few minutes?” He swallowed hard, listening to hear if there was anyone else in the house. When he didn’t hear anymore heartbeats aside from Lydia’s, he looked back at her, troubled.

Lydia nodded, “Sure,” she opened the door wider so he could come in not liking the look on Scott’s face. “Everything okay?” She asked motioning for him to follow her to the kitchen.

Scott stepped inside her house, raking a hand through his hair. He’d only been there a handful of times in all the years that he’d known her. It was a nice house, but considering how big it was and how it was just her and her mom most of the time, it felt like it would be an incredibly lonely house to live in. “No, not...not exactly,” he admitted quietly, following her into the kitchen.

Lydia turned to face him and she hesitated, “What’s going on?” She asked tension filling her body. She took a minute to look at Scott, really look at him and he didn’t look okay. It made her chest tighten.

Scott looked down at the floor, then shut his eyes. “When I woke up this morning, I had a DVD in my mailbox. It was from Stiles.” His voice was quiet.

At the mention of Stiles Lydia’s heartbeat picked up speed. “Is he okay?” She asked immediately her brows drawing together.

He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, feeling like he was approaching another breakdown. He moved over and sat down at the table. “Lydia, he’s...he left town. And I’m not sure if he’s...gonna come back.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” She asked her heart thumping erratically against her chest. She could hear it echoing in her ears that’s how fast it was going. Lydia felt physically sick. She took a step back and a wave of nausea hit her. Her already pale face paled further as her hands reached for something to keep her up right.

“Stiles wouldn’t just leave,” she said her breathing growing heavy, “He wouldn’t just leave without telling me,” she repeated the words. Not after what happened with Jackson when he left for London the first time, not after Stiles knew what that had done to her.

Tears pooled in his eyes and he exhaled shakily. “I think...that he feels responsible for…” He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. Not in the context of Stiles feeling to blame for her death. Connecting the two things together made him feel ill. “He said that he needed to get away and that he was sorry.” He looked up at her, expression stricken.

Lydia pressed her back against the counter her head falling as a soft sob broke free from her throat followed by an onslaught of tears. Stiles was the last person she had left that she could count on. He had always been there for her...he was her constant, her rock. She was supposed to help him get through this...they were supposed to help each other.

Her breaths came in short gasps as she rested a hand against her heart. God it hurt, it all hurt so bad.

Scott quickly got to his feet and moved so that he was standing in front of her. Wordlessly he reached out, wrapping his arms around her tightly even as a tear trickled down his cheek, too. The losses just kept piling up and he didn’t know how they were supposed to deal with it. He was an alpha, but he was seventeen. The girl he loved had died, his best friend blamed himself and split town. How was he supposed to help anyone when he was struggling to deal with everything himself? Stiles was always the person he leaned on, too. The one who had the plan. The one who figured everything out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding onto her tightly. “I’m sorry, Lydia.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Lydia said quietly, “I’m done. I’m out or whatever,” she shifted back her heartbeat still erratic. “I can’t keep doing this, I won’t,” she whispered as she turned away from Scott. “It’s too much and what I feel...something’s wrong. There’s too much inside of me and I can’t I just can’t do this anymore.”

Scott squeezed his eyes shut. He wished it was that simple even if it hurt. “Lydia,” he whispered. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I think he just...I think he’s just really lost right now. He didn’t want to hurt us. It’s not...he’s not like that.”

Lydia turned to face Scott, “You think I don’t know what he’s like?” She asked anger in her voice, but she wasn’t mad at Scott. “We could have helped him find himself that’s our job, to bring him back. It’s my job. I failed the first time. I didn’t listen I didn’t understand what they were trying to tell me. It was my job to save him and instead I ignored it...and then,” she paused, “I can’t keep doing this, everything I’m feeling ever since that night...it’s slowly killing me from the inside,” she told him. “Maybe, maybe it’s better this way. Maybe we all need to just do our own thing maybe Stiles is right.” Lydia said as she turned away from him again and rested her hands on the kitchen counter.

She didn’t mean the words...not really even though maybe there was a tiny part of her that wanted their normal lives back, one where Allison would be there and Stiles didn’t feel the need to deal with his pain alone.

His expression was pained as he listened to her words, knowing she was angry at herself. That like Stiles, and Isaac and himself, she blamed herself for what happened, no matter how far off base that blame was. “Lydia. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t any of our faults.” His voice was stronger, even if he did feel responsible. “It was that demon’s fault. Not yours. Not Stiles’. Not mine. I don’t blame you for any of this.” He stepped closer, eyes tearing up. “And I can’t lose you, too, Lydia. I can’t.”

Lydia swallowed hard, the pain on Scott’s face making her heart clench. She hesitated before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. Lydia held onto Scott tightly. “I just got him back,” she whispered, “I didn’t know how much he meant to me...I didn’t.” She voiced the words she’d eventually wanted to tell Stiles when things settled down to his best friend instead. “I don’t know how to function with them both gone...I’m not sure I can.”

Scott hugged her back tightly again, not surprised by her admission. He knew how close she and Stiles had gotten over the last few months. Knew that she turned to him a lot when she needed to talk. “I know,” he whispered. “And Stiles loves you. He’s always loved you.” He swallowed hard. “And I don’t know how to do this either. I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t...I don’t know how to get through this without him. Without either of them.” A sob escaped him and he buried his face against her shoulder, grief threatening to overtake him. “But if we don’t stick together now, I don’t think that...I don’t think that any of us will get through this, Lydia. I need your help.” He lifted his head to look at her. “I can’t do this alone.”

Lydia ran a hand down his back his words making her chest tight. She nodded. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said finally. “I’m here and I promise, I won’t leave you.” She closed her eyes hanging onto his words. She knew he was telling the truth. But sometimes love obviously wasn’t enough. Her heart clenched. “We’ll figure this out...we’ll watch each other’s backs.” Her stomach clenched. The way Allison used to...the way Stiles did.

____________

 

The drive to the bus station had both been entirely too short and yet somehow felt like an eternity. Stiles was half afraid that Scott would wind up tracking him down and talking him out of what he was doing. Or worse yet, that he’d track Stiles down and he’d have Lydia with him. No way he’d be able to be strong enough to turn around and leave them if he had to face them at the same time. It was hard enough just having his dad here. He knew his dad wasn’t really one hundred percent on board with Stiles’ plan to leave, but they’d spent hours talking about it and he thought that his dad had finally understood where he was coming from, even if he didn’t agree with him.

He’d been careful not to tell Scott in his video, or his dad in person, the main reasons he was really wanting to leave Beacon Hills. If either of them had any real inclination that they thought he was leaving for their own good, he knew neither would have let him go. They wouldn’t realize that it was the best for them. So he’d focused on his own sense of guilt. His own need to get away. He’d made it about himself because he knew his dad and Scott both well enough to know they’d never stand in his way of getting away from the insanity of the small town for the sake of his own sanity. And while that had factored in, too, it was mostly because he knew leaving was the best for them. They were better off with him as far away from them as possible.

Stiles sat silently in the lobby of the bus station beside his dad, wearing his red hoodie even though it was over 80 degrees outside today. Stiles was still so cold. He was making every effort not to shiver, not to look half as sick as he felt because he didn’t want his dad’s final memory of him for the foreseeable future to be that kind of image.

Michael was silent as he sat beside his son, his chest tight. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to just let him go. He didn’t want to. He wanted to tell Stiles this was the stupidest idea he’d ever heard. But he couldn’t do that, not when Stiles felt this was what would help him heal. Michael let out a shaky breath ignoring the people moving around them, the people who were blissfully ignorant of how bad things had been nearly four days ago. Who didn’t know the sacrifices that had been made to save the town they lived in. “Do you have everything you need?” He asked quietly.

Stiles looked down at the single duffel bag he’d packed. It held the very bare minimum of what he’d need. A few changes of clothes, his toothbrush, his razor, his shampoo and soap and deodorant. His laptop. Three frame pictures tucked carefully between his clothes. A book to read on the bus. And his pillow. He looked at his dad sideways. “Yeah,” he said just as quietly, remembering all too well how hard it had been for his dad to leave him at Eichen House for three days, let alone for the man to put him on a bus out of town with no real knowledge of when he’d be coming back.

Michael swallowed hard and nodded. He turned angling his body towards Stiles, the chair squeaking beneath him. “You remember, the second you want to come home, the instant you call me and I will bring you back home. All you have to do is say the word,” he reminded his son, still hoping that he’d change his mind.

Stiles’ chest tightened and he nodded. “I know, Dad,” he whispered. “And I will when I’m ready. I promise.” He heard the announcement on the loudspeaker.

“Bus 372 will be departing for Van Nuys in fifteen minutes. Please begin boarding now.”

Michael closed his eyes. “There’s still time to change your mind,” he whispered opening his eyes and meeting his son’s gaze. “It’s not too late.”

Yes it is, he thought sadly. Wordlessly he leaned over and wrapped his arms around his dad tightly. “I love you. You know that right?”

Michael wrapped his arms around Stiles tightly, tears burning his eyes. “I know,” he said gruffly gripping the back of Stiles’ head with his hand, “I love you too, Stiles. Always, no matter where you are.” He told his son quietly.

He held his breath as he clutched onto his dad for a long moment, nodding against his shoulder. “It won’t be forever,” he said quietly, voice strained. “I promise.” He pulled away and drew in a shaky breath, reaching down and picking up his bag. “Oh. And Dad?”

Michael stood slowly watching his son heft his bag up. “Yeah?” He asked as he rubbed the back of his neck needing something to do with his hands.

“Ask Melissa out.” He turned to face him, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t think Scott’s dad’s planning to leave town anytime soon and we both know you’re a much better option so don’t…” He shook his head. “He may have done you a favor but he’s still a douchebag and she deserves better and so does Scott. So...ask her out.”

Michael blinked, “I,” he paused and shook his head soft chuckle leaving his throat. “Only you would make that kind of demand,” he joked and then sighed, “Don’t forget to check in Stiles, I’m serious.”

A faint grin touched his mouth. “More like sage advice,” he informed his dad, for the briefest moment feeling like things were normal. That he was himself again. But when his dad sighed, his smile slipped once more and he nodded. “I will. I promise.” He hesitated and then hugged his dad again. “Be careful. Please stay safe.”

“You too,” he said as he returned the hug. He heard Stiles’ bus being called again on the loudspeaker and he released his son and swallowed hard, “I love you...we all do.”

He knew that. It was probably why it made everything hurt a lot more than it would have if they didn’t. “I love you, too, Dad.” He clutched his fingers around the strap of his duffel and took a deep breath. “Talk to you soon.” He smiled but it was faint and didn’t reach his eyes. Then he turned, walking toward the terminal. He handed the driver his bus ticket when he climbed on board, taking a seat near the middle of the bus and sitting down by the window, raising his hand in a wave at his dad even as tears prickled at his eyes.

He felt someone sit down beside him but he didn’t look over. Didn’t feel like making small talk with a stranger. He leaned his head against the window as the bus began to pull away a few moments later. Watched his father disappear from view and a short while later, Beacon Hills, as well.

“Van Nuys your final destination?” the older woman beside him asked curiously.

Stiles didn’t look over at her. “No.”

“It’s mine. Where are you heading?” she asked, pulling a magazine from her bag.

He was silent for a moment. “I have no idea.”


End file.
